


True Love's Kiss, Attempted Murder

by dfqwasthat



Series: Sterek [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Kira, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Different Villain in 3A, Drugging, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of blood, Mutual Pining, No Malia Tate, Pack Dad Derek Hale, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Pansexual Derek Hale, Protective Derek Hale, Season 3A and Forward, Seasons 1 and 2 are Canon, Slight Canon Divergence, stiles has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 115,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfqwasthat/pseuds/dfqwasthat
Summary: Beacon Hills has never been the most normal of towns, but recently things have been happening that are getting harder and harder to explain. And it's becoming more difficult to keep the supernatural a secret when something newer, darker and scarier comes to town in the shape of a teenage girl. But she is only the beginning to their problems. And what she brings with her is the worst this town has seen in a while.“What’s so bad about getting a ride in this?” Derek sounded like he was smiling, but as beautiful and unbelievable as that sounded, Stiles still refused to look at the man, “It’s a good car.”“Overcompensating?” Stiles ridiculed, knowing perfectly well that there was no way Derek wasn’t packing something impressive.“I think we both know that’s not true,” Derek was smirking when Stiles finally turned to him, if only in shock by the werewolf’s statement.“I think we both know there is no way I could know that,” Stiles winced at how bitter he sounded, but once it was out, there was no point in trying to suck it back up.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, background Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, background Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, background Scott McCall/Original female character
Series: Sterek [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961056
Comments: 30
Kudos: 353
Collections: My amazing all time favourites.





	1. Vengeance + Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Thanks for checking this out! I've been writing it for a year and I'm glad to finally start putting it out there, even if it might take a while. Here's what you need to know: first two seasons are canon; this replaces 3A and onwards and makes Sterek happen (who doesn't want that, ay?); I might add more tags later on; it will come out in three large clunks of text because I don't want to separate it into smaller chapters; there's an original female character based on my friend Jaden. I think that's all, enjoy!

“What the fuck do you mean you have a crush on him?” Scott turned to Stiles, yanking his head out of the book he was so cautiously examining in the passenger seat. Stiles couldn’t help but wonder how his best friend hadn’t gotten motion sickness yet.

He had really turned himself around after almost failing their sophomore year in Beacon Hills high – he was reading every day, he was catching up on everything he had missed in chemistry and bio during a year of, you know, becoming a werewolf, getting a new girlfriend, trying to escape said girlfriend’s psycho hunter family, trying to save his co-captain from an evil reptilian monster taking over his body, all that jazz, he had even gotten a “word of the day” extension on his browser. Although, Stiles assumed it might also partly be because his breakup with Allison was taking up such a huge part of his brain that he used studying as a distraction from it.

Stiles had not been able to stop thinking about _someone_ either. He'd hated himself for it at first. Hell, he'd thought he was going insane in the first few days, but in time, as his sleeplessness caused by constant fear for his life turned into sleeplessness caused by goddamn Derek Hale, he realised something was different.

And he did not like it.

At first it was just a tingly feeling whenever The Alpha was around, and Stiles could not, for the life of him, figure out what the hell was wrong with him, but when he thought back to the last few months, keeping Derek in mind specifically, it all became clear. And so did the fact that he was going insane.

If stiles was completely honest with himself, he knew it first struck when he'd seen Derek flirting with the officer at the front desk of the sheriff’s station, and even though he'd known he was only doing it to distract her, it had made him inexplicably angry. He had not really paid attention to it, though, as just a minute later he was attacked by one of the hunters and then they had kind of had to deal with Isaac on his first full moon. But now? Now he could see the whole situation in a completely different light. Even the part where Derek had roared at Isaac to put him in his place and then turned around with a smirk and announced, “I’m The Alpha.” A smirk that almost looked like he was trying to impress. _Damn,_ had been all Stiles could think at that moment.

Watching him threateningly deflate a basketball by the pool before interrogating Stiles about the Kanima with a single bare hand had definitely terrified Stiles, but once again, it had given him that tingly feeling. Which he did not understand. Therefore – he'd hated it. He knew it had been Derek’s instinct to protect him since Stiles was only human and Derek was the big bad wolf or, well, the big good wolf, at least most of the time, but him pushing Stiles away and telling him to run as The Kanima attacked, had made Stiles feel…nice. And safe. And that was a vibe many people did not get off Derek. So Stiles had felt obligated to keep him afloat in the pool for two hours when Derek had gotten paralyzed. And it had kind of hurt just the tiniest smidgen when Derek had said they didn’t trust each other. Because Stiles did. As much as he hated to admit it.

Of course, getting paralyzed himself and having to fall onto Derek was no walk in the park either. Especially when Derek so venomously had ordered to get Stiles off of him. Now that had hurt. And that was when he knew. Fortunately, the fear for his life was stronger than the natural urge to act weird which would have kicked in in any other situation when stumbling upon such a terrifying revelation.

And then there were the looks. Stiles knew they meant nothing, but every time the man looked at him he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. It didn’t matter if Derek was frowning like the Sourwolf he was or if he was smiling, which was, admittedly, a rare occurrence on the werewolf’s face – either way it was staring to ache hard. In the pit of his stomach. And he hated it. He hated being attracted to an asshole who would never let anyone in. Let alone a teenager who visibly annoyed the shit out of him. And he knew it would never go anywhere, but he just had to tell someone. It was beginning to trump the whole Lydia situation and Stiles had no idea how he’d let that happen.

“Okay, thank you, supportive as ever,” Stiles yelled, annoyed at his best friend’s reaction, but not exactly having expected much better, “I don’t know myself,” he admitted, “It’s freaking me out.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Scott laughed, “but how can you even have a crush on him?” Scott looked confused, putting his book away, “Like…why?”

“Why? Have you seen him?” Stiles exclaimed, pulling up to a tattoo parlor Scott had made him drive to, “The man’s all hunk and ruggedness. And beard, and-”

“Okay, stop, please,” Scott said urgently, getting out of the jeep. Stiles was seriously beginning to regret telling him anything. “What about Lydia?”

“My question exactly,” Stiles sighed, opening the door to the parlor and heading in.

* * *

“Well, that sucks,” Stiles stated, looking at the completely empty, healed patch of skin on Scott’s arm, thankful it was less gross than he had thought it would be, especially since his head still ached from, you know, the fainting. And the falling. The tattoo was gone. It had just been created and now it was gone.

“Just drive,” Scott growled, making Stiles smirk at his best friend’s misery.

“Oh, hey, speaking of you being all mopey, how’s Allison?” Stiles pried, the joy of annoying Scott even more pungent than usual, what with the whole disrespecting Stiles’ biggest confession of all time. Their breakup had not been messy, but it had left Scott a bit damaged, nonetheless.

“Don’t know. Haven’t called or texted her all summer. You know, giving her the space we agreed on.”

“So is she coming back to school, then?” Stiles asked, watching the red light above the road.

“Don’t know. After everything that happened I’m not sure she’s coming back at all,” Scott shrugged just as Stiles noticed both Allison and Lydia in the car right next to them, both looking equally bored as they lazily discussed something.

“I think she is,” Stiles sighed, “I’d say pretty definite, like, one hundred percent,” he stated and nodded his head to the car next to theirs.

“Oh, shit, drive, Stiles,” Scott commanded, trying to hide when it was obvious Allison had already seen him.

“I can’t! The light’s red,” he said, taking possibly too much joy in his best friend’s pain, “hey, we should say hi,” he suggested, leaning over Scott to open his window.

“For fuck’s sake, seriously, Stiles, if you do that, I’ll tell Derek,” Scott stated panically.

Stiles just laughed, knowing Scott would never do that to him and opened the window just when Lydia started driving and left them both hanging, “Well, that’s not very nice, is it,” Stiles leaned back over to sit properly in his seat.

As the light turned green and they continued driving, Scott, apparently, decided it looked like they were following the girls and demanded Stiles to stop. Stiles begrudgingly obliged, but the girls seemed to have decided the same.

Stiles assumed they were about to confront them, already getting ready to take it, knowing well enough how easily Lydia can get pissed at him. Not that he had the chance to find out, since Lydia hitting the breaks was immediately followed by a deer running into her windshield. An actual fucking deer. Stiles really should not have been this shocked. His best friend was a werewolf, after all. And so was his mancrush.

Boy, was he fucked.

* * *

Stiles had not missed high school one bit, though it had surely not been the worst part of the previous year. He was kind of obligated to attend it either way, but it wasn’t like he was happy about his freedom having been taken away. Doing nothing but hanging out with Scott for three months straight had not, at all, been the worst way to spend the scorching hot California summer.

Besides, Scott was a great distraction from having to think about his sudden, unwelcome, weird-ass feelings. Mostly feelings of constant dread for his own life, his best friend’s life, his father’s life, and now…Derek’s. Which was the other – the lesser – part of ignorable feelings.

The first day of school was never Something Stiles looked forward to. For years it had been a dreaded moment in the academic year. Eventually, a few weeks in, it usually became easier, when he realised time and time again that no one actually cared about his existence. Not even bullies cared enough, especially now that Jackson was gone.

What he did want to do before he left for his first day, was accomplish something other than the Mario Cart personal best of a lifetime, so he tried to explain to his father how weird the deer thing was, even if he wasn’t that convinced of it himself yet. He just had a feeling.

“Stiles, just go to school,” The Sheriff pleaded, rubbing his temples as he listened to his son ramble on about rabid deer, most of whom had run out of the woods, much fewer having run right into a car all by themselves.

“It’s important,” Stiles whined as his father pulled his chair backwards from the desk after trying to bribe and extort him. Which, obviously, would have never worked. Unlike the chair thing. That was good.

“So is your education.”

Stiles sighed and got his backpack from the floor before heading for the door, “Fine, I’ll go get my education,” he mocked and walked down stairs to his jeep, only remembering about breakfast when he’d gotten to his car, but waving it away, deciding to get something from a vending machine.

“Hey, hey, dude,” Scott rushed up to him once he had walked into the building and observed his surroundings. Absolutely nobody had looked at him, “Listen, I was thinking, what if I ask Derek about the tattoo?” he said before Stiles could even say hi, “you know, he could help, right?”

“You wanna ask Derek for help? Why? Why?” Stiles frowned half in fear of the man hurting his best friend, half in fear of seeing him and being all weird in front of him, which was very possible. So very, very possible.

“Well, he’s got the triskelion tattooed on his back, so there has to be a way to do it without healing, right?” Scott wondered hopefully.

“Yeah, but, still…” Stiles started, hoping to find something in his head that could help him postpone seeing Derek for as long as possible, when he noticed two ‘missing’ posters for Boyd and Erica, “doesn’t he have his hands a little full?” he asked, nodding towards the posters.

Scott seemed to think it over for a bit before nodding ruefully, “Are you scared to see him?” he teased nonetheless, “is he gonna break your little heart?” it was obvious Stiles’ best friend still did not believe the possibility of him having even the slightest of feelings towards the hero-complex bearing werewolf. To be perfectly honest, if the roles had been reversed, Stiles would not believe it either.

“Class is about to start,” he changed the subject ever so masterfully and pushed Scott lightly into the direction of their classroom.

He smiled as he had the luck to have Lydia sitting next to him and then turned to watch the definitely-not-at-all-awkward-for-sure-completely-normal exchange between Scott and Allison, since this was the first time they'd talked after their break-up, shooting him a sarcastic thumbs-up when he turned to Stiles, before a new teacher walked in – Jennifer Blake. She was pretty hot, but Stiles had Lydia sitting next to him, so who had the time to care about cougars?

About ten minutes into the lesson, when they had been given a writing assignment, Scott – lucky bastard – was called and excused to leave, as Stiles was forced to remain in the class. He jittered in his seat, the task being too long and boring. He looked around the familiar room, taking notice of the patchy paintjob on the walls, the dusty corners of the windowsills, the fall weather he would never appreciate if he hadn’t been procrastinating, until he looked over to Lydia’s foot, noticing a huge band aid on her ankle.

He asked her if it was from the accident, which he would have found unlikely, as her legs should not have been hurt, but she just shifted uncomfortably, fixing her skirt as she did, and retorted that it was Prada that bit her.

“Your dog?” Stiles asked, unable to believe that the tiny ball of fur could hurt anyone.

“No, my designer handbag,” she said as if it had been obvious, “yes, my dog,” her tone had something about it that made Stiles feel like he was an idiot. Actually it made most people feel that way. When Stiles asked if Prada had ever bitten her before, which was, you know, his original intention, she just looked at him uncomfortably, as if not wanting to admit it, and shook her head.

“Okay, what if it’s like the same thing as the deer?” he suggested, making her look up from her work again, “like how animals start acting weird right before an earthquake or something?”, but Lydia just retorted something dismissing his idea that something bad was going to happen.

“What’s that thing you say about threes?” she asked rhetorically, most probably to make him leave her alone, but it made Stiles perk up a bit at her remembering something so specific about him. He appreciated it a lot, even though she definitely didn’t mean anything by it.

But before Stiles had a moment to internally gloat about it, or to get back to the task he’d been given and was doing his best to avoid, a crow flew into the window right behind Lydia with a loud thud, leaving a bloody stain on the glass as he fell to the ground.

Everyone watched the stained spot on the glass in confusion, unsure as to what had just happened. If stiles hadn’t been looking out the window he wouldn’t have known what hit them either. And once it was gone, another one came. Then another. And another. Until eventually the glass broke and shuttered onto the students, and the birds started flying into the classroom, as the new teacher yelled at everyone to get down. Stiles obliged, scramming over to Lydia to grab her head in a deadlock and protect her, as the rabid birds pecked angrily at anyone and everyone in their way.

It took a solid twenty minutes, although it seemed like an infinity, for the crows to be gone and all to seem oddly quiet. Some of the birds were lying lifeless on the ground, but most were gone. Either out the window or God knows where. Stiles didn’t care. He was just glad Lydia was safe. The students started getting up from their make-shift shelters built in a hurry out of desks and Stiles could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had called an ambulance.

Even the police had been informed, as his father was standing in the corner of the room ten minutes later, trying to make sense of what had happened, before heading over to Allison’s dad to ask if he’d something like this before. He was not sure why Mr. Argent had even come here, but he assumed that because of everything that had happened last spring to his family, he was surely going to be more protective and, hopefully, more caring towards his daughter. Not that he had not been protective before. With all the shit Scott had to go through…

Scott.

He didn’t know. Stiles dialled his number immediately, knowing it by heart, “We got a serious problem at school,” Stiles informed his best friend without even waiting for him to say hello, “Ms. Blake’s class…”

“Can you tell me about it later?” Scott asked, making Stiles very conscious of how more often than not Scott was too busy to talk to him.

“Uh, well, nope, pretty sure this qualifies for immediate discussion,” Stiles said and Scott suggested they meet at Derek’s then. “Derek’s house? What? What the hell are you doi-“

“Just meet us here,” Scott said and ended the call. Derek’s house. Great. That meant Derek. Fantastic. Just mother fucking fabulous.

* * *

“What’s up?” Stiles said monotony and stepped into Derek’s house without an invite as soon as the werewolf opened the door. He heard his best friend call out his name and followed the voice into what used to be the living room of the house. Scott was sitting on a bench in the middle of the room, having just traced out what he wanted his tattoo to look like in the dust on the floor, presumably to show Derek, as Stiles already knew what he wanted it to look like. In fact, he’d already seen it. It had just disappeared moments after.

The Alpha followed Stiles into the room with a small, smirk playing on his lips as he watched the only human in the house for the shortest of moments, before coming to a stop in front of Scott, and crouched down to examine his shoulder, his eyes switching to red swiftly and then back to his gorgeous human green with the help of a couple of blinks. He understood what Scott wanted and asked what it meant, waiting patiently as Scott explained it was more about the tattoo itself and less about what the two bands meant.

Stiles shuffled on his feet in the corner, listening to Scott and taking the opportunity to shine in front of Derek, answering to Scott’s question about the meaning of the word ‘tattoo’ with “to mark something,” and smiling proudly at himself and the usefulness of his random knowledge, and making Derek turn to him with a raised eyebrow, before Scott provided another translation of the word he was surprised to hear – open wound.

Scott explained he wanted to get the tattoo as a reward for not talking to Allison all summer just like she had wanted, but it still had felt like… “An open wound,” Stiles said, finishing his best friend’s sentence.

Derek seemed satisfied with Scott’s answer and Stiles noted he might have never seen the older wolf look so understanding. So nice. So human. “Pain’s gonna be the worst thing you’ve ever felt,” Derek warned, shrugging and pulling something from the floor next to him.

Was it a torch?

Oh, God, it was a torch.

“Oh! Yeah, nice,” Stiles shrugged to himself, already dreading what he was about to witness. The anticipation became slightly, if not endlessly, more unbearable once Scott told Derek to do it and he lit the torch, complying. “Oh! Wow. That’s, uh…That’s a lot…for me, so…” he trailed off, hoping to escape the situation, already taking his first steps to back out of the room, “I’m gonna take that as my que, I’m just gonna wait outside,” he rambled, turning on his heel and starting to walk off, when Derek’s hand grabbed at his arm (and the idea alone of Derek _touching him_ was almost too much) so he stopped immediately.

“Nope,” Derek said simply, his grasp on Stiles’ arm tightening, “you’re gonna help hold him down,” he ordered and pushed the human back towards Scott, watching as he walked over to stand behind his best friend and then surveying his long fingers on the other werewolf’s shoulders for a moment longer – a gaze that did not go unnoticed by Stiles, but he was also not sure whether he’d imagined it – before The Alpha brought the flame straight to Scott’s arm, burning the flesh and ignoring the teen’s screams and grunts, just reminding Stiles to hold him.

“He’s gonna pass out,” Stiles warned, using more of his strength than he though would be necessary. Man, Scott really was strong. Even knowing his best friend was definitely holding himself back, wanting that tattoo badly enough, Stiles still had trouble keeping him in place.

“So hold him,” Derek reminded through gritted teeth.

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles scoffed, feeling Scott go more and more numb every few moments.

It took what seemed like an infinity before it was done, Stiles barely managing not to throw up. Twice. But it was finally done and everything was calm, even after Scott had gone unconscious at one point. “Done,” Derek informed Stiles, stepping away from Scott’s limp, sweaty body.

“Oooh, thank God,” Stiles winced, looking down to see two perfect black bands decorating his best friend’s bicep, “Wow, that’s so good.”

“You sound surprised,” Derek teased.

“You should do this professionally,” Stiles ignored the mocking tone of the wolf’s voice.

“What? Torch people’s flesh?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to, Sourwolf,” Stiles smiled smugly, ignoring Derek’s pointed look, “You’re an aggressive guy. Surely causing pain is what you truly want,” he grinned crookedly at the man giving him a death glare just as Scott came back to consciousness, Derek’s eyes still on Stiles and he couldn’t help but notice the small smirk that tugged on his lips the second Stiles turned to Scott.

“It worked,” Scott sounded surprised, “thanks, man,” he said, getting up from the chair and patting The Alpha’s shoulder as he bypassed him on his way out, Stiles following suit.

“Well, looks pretty damn permanent now,” Stiles informed as they headed for the door, listening to Scott’s sappy little monologue about everything changing too fast, even using a fancy word Stiles only knew the meaning of from the context of the conversation. “Studying for the PSATs? Nice,” he shrugged proudly.

As they opened the door to head out, the forest outside the house revealed a splattering of dead rabbits decorating Derek’s front yard, and The Alpha looked over to the two teens in obvious panic.

It was strange to see Derek worried, Stiles noted, but at least the guy had something along the lines of feelings.

“What the hell?” Scott whispered.

“Four just continues to be a pattern,” Stiles said, looking out into the near distance in awe. The small animals were lying on the ground for as far as he could see into the woods. “All of them dead?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek who appeared to be listening for the small heartbeats. He nodded at the human.

“Jesus Christ,” was all Stiles could answer as he looked back out the door, feeling Derek’s gaze still on his back. They left soon after, when Derek told them to go so he could get the small animals away from his house. Or, you know, shell of a house.

“What are you gonna do with those?” Stiles had asked before getting in his jeep with Scott and laughed nervously when Derek said he’d eat them, only calming down slightly when Scott promised Derek wouldn’t eat the dead rabbits.

* * *

“Stiles it’s just dead animals,” The Sheriff repeated for maybe the fifth time as Stiles just kept on talking, standing in front of his father’s desk at the sheriff’s station, “my question is,” Sheriff Stilinski raised his voice in order to stop his son’s rambling, “why were you even at Derek Hale’s house?”

“I-I-I…”

“He’s an accused murderer,” his father reminded him.

“Not anymore. And innocent until proven guilty.”

“And the Hale house is falling apart.”

“Can’t blame a man for holding the memory of his dead family close.”

“Stiles,” The Sheriff rubbed his temples.

“Dad, can we just stick to the matter at hand?”

“It’s dead animals,” Stiles’ father said again, “there’s nothing I can do,” he sat back in his chair and realised that it’s true, but there was someone who could do something. Or, at the least, know something, “where are you going now?” The Sheriff asked as Stiles hurriedly rushed out of his father’s office.

“Just remembered something. See you at dinner. Salad, dad,” he reminded and ran back to his jeep to drive to The Vet’s, rushing through the streets of the small town slightly above speed limit. _It’s okay_ , he thought, _my dad’s the Sheriff_.

“Doctor Deaton!” he called out, opening the glass door, the little bell chiming loudly and announcing a client’s arrival. Without waiting for an invite, he headed right to the small room in the back of the office, “Doctor…”

“Hello, Stiles,” Deaton smiled politely just as Stiles noticed Scott leaned against a brick wall, looking at him quizzically.

“Al…right,” Stiles stopped immediately, “since when are you the clever one?” he turned to Scott who pretended to be offended.

“Stiles, Scott was just about to tell me about…some dead animals?” Deaton looked to Scott questioningly.

“Yeah, the deer, the birds and now this,” Scott said and handed Deaton his phone, revealing the ground outside Derek’s house covered in yellow leaves and dead rabbits. Stiles hadn’t even noticed Scott take a picture, but it surely was a smart move. Something in that boy’s brain had finally started moving.

“And Lydia’s dog,” Stiles pointed out, the two other men in the room looking at him in confusion. “It…bit her and…it doesn’t…really… do that. Ever,” Stiles rambled, “maybe that’s not as impressive as the rest. She might have just annoyed it,” Stiles waved it off as Deaton turned back to Scott.

“This sort of behaviour is definitely strange,” the doctor admitted, looking at the picture in Scott’s phone again, “I can’t say I’ve ever really seen anything like this.”

“Does that mean you don’t know what this means?” Stiles asked, “because, if you ask me, it looks like mass suicide.”

Deaton didn’t say anything to approve or dismiss the theory, but he did look concerned and Stiles knew he would be. He was a vet. He was the one in the town to know about animals and, judging by everything they’d been through during the past year, the supernatural, as well, but a confused Deaton meant something to worry about and neither Stiles nor, by the looks of it, Scott really liked that.

* * *

“I’ve never heard about animals committing mass suicide,” Scott said as they were walking to lunch the next day, “I mean pain so bad you gotta put it to an end, sure, but all of them together? Sounds…insane.”

“Insane like Lydia roaming the woods naked for two days or insane like you being a werewolf?” Stiles raised an eyebrow as his best friend sat down on a bench outside.

“Alright, sure, weirder things have happened,” Scott shrugged with a laugh.

“But what if this is different? What if this is something bigger?” Stiles asked, leaning forwards and bouncing his leg nervously.

“That’s always a possibility,” Scott admitted and bit into his sandwich, noticing Stiles’ questioning look, “Ok, look, dude,” he sighed, “it might be something bigger. Sure. But until we know what or how to fight it, what’s the point of worrying?”

Stiles looked at him as if admitting he’s right and plopped his feet up on the bench to sit more comfortably.

“Scott!” someone yelled just as Stiles had finished his lunch and was now enjoying the September sun.

Can’t they have a moment of calmness? Just a bit? Stiles looked up, adjusting his eyes to the bright sun before seeing Isaac running to them, everyone’s eyes following him as he yelled Scott’s name throughout the courtyard, “Derek,” he managed to say while attempting to catch his breath, but Scott and Stiles were already on his feet, ready to run, dread filling Stiles’ entire being as he imagined every bad scenario possible.

“I’ll drive,” Stiles announced quickly and started for the parking lot, noting that they had about twenty minutes until the end of the lunch period. That should do to see if the idiot’s alive. Scott and Isaac followed Stiles to his car and barely managed to close the doors before Stiles was already speeding towards the Preserve. He better fucking be alive. He better be in one fucking piece. Because Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d do if he wasn’t.

He was first to run into the scorched house, the other two werewolves following suit and Stiles knew Scott was worried about his best friend more than Derek. Peter was waiting outside, putting his phone away, looking at Isaac like he’d just been about to call the boy.

“Derek?” Stiles called out and saw him crouched on the floor over a body. At least he was alive. But looking like he’d just killed someone wasn’t super great either. “Derek,” Stiles repeated his name, as if asking what he’d done.

“She’s not dead,” a familiar voice said from the further end of the room.

“Boyd?” Isaac asked and looked stunned for a moment before walking across the room over to his ex-packmate to swiftly punch him in the face.

“Jesus, Isaac,” Scott ran over to the boy, grabbing his arm, although it didn’t look like he had even wanted to do any more damage than just the one punch. He stepped back, watching Boyd carefully instead for a moment, then turned to Derek.

“What happened?” Isaac asked his Alpha. Derek looked scared and confused and refused to look up from the girl laying on the floor. “Where’s Erica?” Isaac then demanded, turning back to Boyd. Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to see he was pissed and worried, and, above all, already grieving, without having heard the answer. Expectedly, Boyd looked to the ground, knowing a verbal confirmation wasn’t necessary.

“Derek,” Stiles said again, making the man flinch slightly, but never look up, only holding on to the unconscious girl tighter, as if Stiles would hurt her, “who is she?” he asked cautiously.

“Her name,” Peter said from the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the whole spectacle play out, “is Cora.” _Great,_ Stiles thought, _that totally makes everything clear._ “Cora Hale,” he sighed, seeing no one knew what he was talking about, “my niece, Derek’s sister.”

Holy shit.

Stiles knew Derek had two sisters, but he also knew they were both dead. One burned to death in the Hale fire and the other ripped apart by her uncle. The same uncle that was now looking at them all in slight amusement. Seriously, the guy had no empathy or shame whatsoever.

“Your sister?” Scott said in more like a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Derek growled.

“But how-“

“I don’t know, Scott!” he dismissed loudly, looking up to him and flashing his red eyes warningly. Not that Scott seemed to care, since Derek wasn’t his Alpha, but the anger was noticeable either way.

“Our little omega friend here brought her back,” Peter announced and Stiles couldn’t tell whether he was pissed or just making fun of everyone freaking out. The Hales weren’t the easiest to read at times. Or ever.

“From the dead?” Isaac asked, earning a pointed look from Derek, “well, sorry, but what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said calmly and took Cora in his arms, staring for the stairs, “but we need a better place to stay than here,” he stated and looked to Boyd, “all of us.”

“Congrats,” Peter said to Boyd, having followed Derek up the stairs with his eyes just like everyone else in the room, “looks like you’re forgiven.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Boyd admitted, “I couldn’t save Erica. He’s only forgiven me because I brought Cora back.”

They all knew he was right, but no one wanted to actually point it out. They knew Boyd felt like shit and salting up his wounds wouldn’t do any good to anyone. Stiles wanted oh so badly to just follow Derek upstairs and make sure he was alright, but he didn’t exactly feel like getting punched right at the moment, so Stiles just took Isaac and Scott back to school, only late for the class about five minutes.

* * *

“Do you think she’s okay?” Stiles asked Scott after school, catching up to him in the hall.

“She’s Derek’s sister. She’s a Hale. They can literally come back from the dead, of course she’s okay,” Scott said pointedly, possibly trying to convince himself of it.

“Right, but then how is she back? She didn’t have a Lydia to bring her back, did she?”

“Who doesn’t have a Lydia?” a melodic yet slightly mocking voice of the redhead prom queen rang from behind the two boys.

“No one,” they both said in unison, making her narrow her eyes in disbelief.

“Right,” she agreed mockingly and rolled her eyes, “Scott, Allison needs to talk to you.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, but you two need to work this mess out, I can’t keep dealing with it alone.”

“Yes!” Stiles said possibly too loudly and excitedly. “Yeah, no, I agree, you two annoy me,” Stiles nodded, having seen Lydia’s annoyed face and calmed down, and slapped Scott’s back before heading to his jeep and home, hoping his best friend would finally take the not so subtle hint and deal with their bullshit break. They’re Scott and Allison. They wouldn’t stay away from each other for long anyway.

* * *

Fine. It was fine. For three days everything was fine. No suicidal animals, no zombie little sisters. Cora actually seemed to be getting better, at least according to Isaac’s not-so-detailed reports. Derek had found a loft downtown, which, again, Isaac had very thoroughly described as “Cool, I guess.” Life seemed to have calmed down.

Until one evening Stiles received a call. From Lydia. At nearly midnight. He was confused as to why the hell she’d call him so late. Or at all. But she sounded scared, she’d found something and she sounded absolutely terrified. Why she’d been at the public pool in the middle of the night was unclear to Stiles, but he drove to meet her nonetheless.

“Lydia? What’s going on?” he asked, jumping over the locked gate, ignoring the “closed” sign. She was standing there, just standing alone, holding herself in her tiny dress in the chilly night as Stiles ran up to her.

“I was…driving to the store and…” she licked her lips and looked up, focusing on something behind Stiles.

“What?” he asked, turning around to see a boy, about their age, sitting in the lifeguard post, blood dripping down his neck, shoulders and the rest of his body, piling up in a puddle of blood right beneath him, “holy shit,” he gasped and stepped back, protectively reaching out behind him for Lydia.

“I don’t know why I’m here, Stiles,” she admitted in a whisper.

“What do you mean?” he asked, “you called me.”

“Yes, but I don’t remember driving here. I was going to the store for painkillers and then…I was just here. And he was just dead,” she looked at Stiles and the fear he had heard earlier on the phone was now very visible in her eyes, “I don’t know why I found him,” she whispered again and Stiles heard sirens in the distance.

“You called the police before you called me?”

“I’m supposed to call you first when I find a dead body?” she asked mockingly, apparently never losing her temperament even when terrified.

“Yes!” Stiles yelled as if it was obvious. Which it should have been by now. He might only be human, but that’s precisely what made him the brains. Everyone else were the doers. He was the thinker. “Okay, shit, fine,” he said, trying to compose himself, “my dad’s coming, so, stay calm.”

“I’m trying, but you’re freaking me out,” Lydia pointed out.

“And we’re gonna tell him that…what are we telling him?” Stiles asked.

“We were on a date,” Lydia answers simply and Stiles nods with squinted eyes. As if that’s gonna work.

* * *

“You? Were on a date with Lydia Martin?” The Sheriff stated, looking to Stiles through narrowed eyes. Yep, Stiles had known there was no way he’d believe him about this.

“Yes, dad,” he kept lying anyway, knowing he had nothing to lose, “I’m very charming and funny,” he said angrily, just the slightest bit offended by his father’s disbelief in Stiles’ ability to ask out Lydia Martin and have her actually agree.

“Uh huh,” his dad hadn't written a single thing down on his little pad, “and you came on your date here.”

“Breaking and entering has always been super romantic?” he shrugged and it might have come out as more of a question than an explanation of their whereabouts.

“Son, you’re telling me you were on a date with the girl you’ve had a crush on since first grade and as the grand romantic gesture that you surely would make on an occasion as such you brought her to a closed public pool.”

“I also bought her fries beforehand.”

“And then you just stumbled upon a dead boy.”

“Are you suggesting we killed him?” Stiles asked defensively, knowing that was not at all what his father was saying, but it could potentially lead him away from not believing the date story.

“No, he killed himself,” his dad sighed.

“What? It was a suicide?” Stiles asked hurriedly, as his father closed the pad and patted the boy’s back.

“None of your business, take her home and then go home yourself. Straight home.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but dad-“

“Later, Stiles,” he said warningly and Stiles knew there would be no later, but it was probably pointless to argue.

* * *

“Another suicide?” Scott asked silently, even though no one around them would listen to their conversation, since there were no people within at least ten feet radius from them in the otherwise busy school hallway.

“Human this time,” he specified.

“I got that from your dad being involved. How’s Lydia?” Scott looked worried.

“Bit shaken up, but, come on, it’s Lydia. If anyone’s gonna be fine after something like that, it’s Lydia Martin.”

“Okay, yeah, but what do we do about the body?”

“We?” Stiles asked, “Hold up, when did you become me? It’s a dead guy, we don’t approach him. Like, at all.”

“Fine,” Scott laughed.

“I’m serious, this is none of our business,” Stiles said warningly.

“What’s up with you, man? You’re always the one who wants to investigate everything,” Scott pointed out, walking down the stairs.

“You didn’t see him, Scotty,” Stiles let his head fall back in exaggeration, “the guy was covered in blood and now that I think about it he had a knife in his hand. Have you ever seen someone who’s killed themselves, Scott?"

His best friend looked at him with concern, “You…okay, dude?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said absently, “yeah, yeah, I am,” he slapped the back of Scott’s shoulder, “Can we just not go into dealing with dead people? At least until we know something for sure?” he felt as if he was begging, his breathing hitched, he couldn’t unsee the dead boy looking down upon him from the lifeguard post, the blood still dripping from the soles of his shoes. A person who’d taken their own life. By choice. When so many died without one. Like his mother. Or Derek’s whole family. It had kept him up all night, he was barely functioning.

“Okay, Stiles,” Scott looked almost scared for his best friend, “are you sure you’re-“

“I’m fine, Scott,” he insisted perhaps a bit too loud, making Scott shut right up, “Sorry,” he whispered, looking down and shaking out his trembling hands, “Damn it.”

“Stiles, do you need some water? What’s happening?” Scott asked calmly, placing his hand firmly on Stiles’ arm. Somehow, oddly, it was helping, as if Scott was holding him down to earth. 

“I don’t know,” he said and closed his eyes, breathing in as deep as he could. It took him a couple of tries to get it right – to get all the air in and then out his lungs. It felt like they were burning for a while and he hadn’t noticed leaning against a wall or drinking from Scott’s water bottle, or Lydia and Allison having approached them, now watching Stiles with horror in their eyes.

“I’m fine,” Stiles repeated when he was sure he could speak again.

“Stiles, you're having a panic attack,” Lydia said cautiously. The staircase was empty apart from the four of them, so was the rest of the hallway. Thinking about it, Stiles was sure he could remember the bell distantly ringing for class.

“I’ll call your dad,” Scott announced once Stiles had failed to answer Lydia’s proposal. He could only shake his head. He couldn’t have his dad worry.

He was bending over, hands on his knees, someone was rubbing his back. He could hear Scott’s voice somewhere in the distance and when he lifted his head to look forward he could see Lydia looking out the window, everything outside of it bright and blurred, he obviously couldn’t focus yet.

Allison’s voice was whispering something comforting as her hand moved up and down Stiles’ back rhythmically, her sweet perfume finally reaching his nose and bringing him closer back to reality.

“Guys,” Lydia’s voice sounded unsure. Stiles was still afraid to stand up straight in fear of his legs not being able to hold him up properly and giving in.

“Stiles, your dad said he couldn’t get anywhere,” Scott sounded confused, walking towards them from the windowless hallway.

“Guys,” Lydia repeated more prominently.

“Why the hell not?” Allison sounded angry.

“He said there was…”

“A blizzard,” Lydia was pointing at the window when Stiles looked up to check if he’d heard her right. Allison’s hand stopped moving along Stiles’ spine and Scott’s phone fell out of his hand.

“It’s September,” Scott whispered.

“In California,” Allison chipped in.

Stiles released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and suddenly felt almost fine. Only in lieu of celebrating the life hack he’d just discovered of how to stop himself from dying, he forced himself to look out into the wall of bright white outside the window.

“Cars are prohibited to move,” Scott said and Stiles assumed his father had told him so on the phone, “because there’s a blizzard.”

“In September,” Allison stated.

“In California,” Lydia was the most confused Stiles had ever seen her.

People were piling out of the classrooms by now, confused as to what the hell was happening. It truly was insane, as if all of them had gone mad at once. It looked absolutely crazy outside as well. They literally couldn’t see anything but snow. Not even the outline of the closest cars in the parking lot. Just a wall of white.

“I don’t know,” Isaac approached them, his phone held up to his ear. He was probably talking to Derek. Or Peter. God, let it be Derek, “What do we do?” he asked and Stiles assumed it was Derek, as he was Isaac’s Alpha and he wouldn’t expect orders from Peter.

“Is that Derek?” Scott asked and Isaac nodded before putting his phone on speaker.

“You do nothing. It’s snow and you’re werewolves not wizards, you can’t intervene in meteorology,” Derek sounded annoyed and hurried.

“Fine,” Scott said, “but don’t you think it might have something to do with the animals? I mean that’s nature, too, right?”

“Scott, I’m not the king of the world, I know as much of what’s happening as you do. Now excuse me,” The Alpha said pointedly, “I have to go.”

“Derek,” Stiles called quickly, before he could hang up, hearing the werewolf on the other end of the line breathe instead of the beeps announcing an ended call, he continued, “how’s Cora?”

“She’s…” Derek sounded almost taken aback to hear someone care, “better. Talks and shit.”

“Great, so can we talk to her some time?” Stiles asked.

“Why?” The Alpha almost growled back.

“Maybe…” Stiles wasn’t sure how to put it delicately.

“Stiles,” Derek urged the human impatiently.

“Well shit started going down when she came back, right?” he said carefully, eying his confused friends all around him. To be fair, he wasn’t sure where this all was coming from either, “maybe she just knows something.”

“My little sister is not magic,” Derek stated angrily.

“Maybe she’s something,” Stiles said absently, looking right into Lydia’s eyes, thinking the same about the strawberry blonde in front of him.

They were forced to end the call when the teachers were instructed to guide everyone to the gym and await further instructions, probably just killing time and potential panic until they figure out what to do. After all, a blizzard meant cold. And the building was not being heated in September.

* * *

“We’re gonna die here,” Stiles stated, laying on the floor of the gym next to Scott and throwing him the football they’d been passing each other for at least an hour, “I have literally never been more bored.”

“You’re at school, you realize that this is the least boring institution in town,” Lydia’s eye rolling was practically audible. Stiles was glad she was done hiding her genius. He was even gladder that he’d known about it when she was still pretending to be the dumb pretty girl, but it was nice to see her owning it.

They’d been asked to remain in the gym and only leave with a teacher’s supervision. No one knew how long they’d have to stay, mostly because there had never been a fucking blizzard in September, at least not one either of them could remember.

Allison was eating an apple and carefully studying an old book, probably another family heirloom, Lydia was reading chemistry and algebra textbooks at the same time, scribbling something down in a notebook, the corner of the page sporting a hand-drawn tree, and Isaac looked like he’d fallen asleep next to Allison on the floor with his face buried into the side of her thigh, not that she seemed to have noticed one bit.

“When is this GONNA END?” Stiles finished his question in a yell, earning a few pissed looks from the teachers, sitting in the corner of the large room all together as if plotting something. The newbie – Jennifer Blake – looked especially concerned.

Suddenly Scott sat up, letting Stiles’ thrown football hit the back of his head instead of catching it. When Stiles asked what was happening, he received no answer. Instead, Scott just stood up and started walking. No ‘going to the bathroom, be back soon’. Just up and left. Somehow none of the teachers seemed to notice him exiting the gym and Stiles took his chance to follow his best friend, watching the circle of school staff hurriedly talk amongst themselves, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what was happening around them until anyone walked up to them.

The hallways were cold, dark and dreary, just as Stiles had expected. The blizzard had seemed to have calmed down at some point, leaving a heavy snow fall where there had been a wall of white before, but it had sucked all life and soul out of the building, leaving it freezing and unwelcoming. Stiles could see the streetlights shining though the huge, lazy flakes as he called out his best friend’s name to no answer.

“Scotty, you okay?” he asked cautiously, following a faint sound of water running. Man, he wished he had werewolf hearing sometimes.

He kept walking to what he thought would be the boys’ locker room, listening intently as he called out Scott’s name once again. It seemed so ominous, for a moment he actually thought Scott was just playing a prank on him. He barely touched the door when it creaked open, revealing his best friend standing under the running shower, fully clothed, staring right ahead, warm yellow eyes glistening brightly into the dark room.

“Scotty?” Stiles wasn’t sure if approaching him was a good idea. He’d never seen Scott this weird apart from full moons, and, as the best friend of a werewolf and the self-proclaimed human brain of the pack, he had made sure to memorise each and every full moon to come for at least six months ahead. And tonight was still about fourteen days away from a full moon.

He walked up to his best friend, reaching out a hand towards him slowly to see how Scott would react. He didn’t. he didn’t even seem to acknowledge Stiles’ presence, so he moved his hand closer to his best friend, until it reached under the streaming water, making Stiles flinch and pull his hand back, feeling how ice cold it was.

“Stiles?” he heard Lydia call out for him from the doorway and only once he looked back and saw Lydia holding herself, trying her best not to tremble, he noticed how freezing cold the air was throughout the school.

Stiles turned back around to face Scott and reached forward again, this time reaching him. He was half expecting Scott to wolf out and attack him, but the second the human’s hand touched him, he came back to his normal self, yelping and rushing to the other side of the room to get away from the freezing water.

“What the fuck?” Scott demanded.

“You wanna tell us that? Lydia spat back, “we had to follow you down here to find you taking a goddamn shower, what’s wrong with you?”

“It’s ice cold,” Stiles informed and turned off the water, “what the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about? I was in the gym, throwing you a football and the next second I’m under this freezing monstrosity.”

“Scott, you walked here yourself,” Lydia said quietly.

“And now you’re gonna freeze,” Stiles raked a hand through his hair, nodding to Scott’s drenched clothes and walking over to his locker to grab a dry hoodie and gym shorts to lend his wet buddy.

“Thanks,” Scott said, shaking slightly and Stiles hummed as he escorted Lydia out into the hallway to wait for Scott to change.

“What the hell was that?” Lydia still looked pissed, but kept her voice hushed, although Stiles saw no point in this, what with Scott’s perfect werewolf hearing.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“Stiles, it’s a bunch of animals and some snow. Where does Scott come into all of this?”

“Werewolves are animals, aren’t they? The fauna of nature? What if his human side was holding him back while his animal side tried to do something stupid to himself? Like the suicidal fucking rabbits and deer and birds and…”

“And Scott?” Lydia rolled her eyes, “He’s demented that’s all. A little full moon stuck on him?”

“The last one was fifteen days ago, something’s very clearly wron-“ his rant was interrupted by a loud scream somewhere far away, possibly on the other side of the school. This was getting weirder and weirder by the second, but Stiles didn’t have any time to think about it as Scott opened the door hurriedly, still pulling the hoodie on and Stiles was already running, blatantly ignoring Lydia’s attempts to stop him by calling out his name. He could hear two sets of footsteps behind him – one of them being Lydia’s high heels – and knew they’re both following him.

He ended up back near the gym where The Coach angrily tried to shove people back into the large room, yelling profanities at them as they tried to get out again, before turning to see the three of them rushing towards him and turning almost purple with rage.

“Coach! What was that scream?” Stiles barely managed to get out before Coach grabbed the back of his shirt harshly.

“Stilinski, McCall,” he yelled through gritted teeth, “what are you two knuckleheads doing running around when all of your lovely teachers are trying to keep you safe and sound in the Goddamn gym?”

“With all due respect, Coach,” Lydia started, but was never given the chance to finish.

“Shut it, princess. Gym, now,” she looked offended as hell at that, but didn’t dare arguing, and he pushed the two boys in, avoiding hurting or even touching Lydia. _Lucky girls,_ Stiles thought.

“Fuck,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get rid of what would surely become a bruise, “Hey, Allison, what’s going on?” he asked when they were in earshot. She looked stressed and rushed over to hug Scott, whispering something along the lines of “thank God”.

“What happened?” Scott asked instantly.

“They found a dead body in one of the bathrooms. Someone…someone cut their throat in the boys’ bathroom.”

Stiles couldn’t help but look at Lydia as if by instinct, knowing they were both thinking about the dead boy by the pool.

“That’s why I followed you, the bathroom’s right next to the locker room,” Lydia whispered in horror, “I was supposed to find it. Again.” It really must have been terrifying, knowing there was something pulling you to dead bodies without you even knowing it.

“Miss Blake went to look for you and returned all pale and with actual blood on her hands,” Allison shifted uncomfortably. Seeing someone’s blood on your teacher’s hands must not have been too much of a fun time.

“That explains the screaming,” Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

“Uh, Allison?” Scott said, looking around carefully, “Where’s Isaac?”

Stiles looked around as well, unable to see the other werewolf. “What do you mean where?” she said, “He followed you guys.”

The few seconds it took them to realise the most awful of scenarios seemed like an infinity, but Stiles and Scott got to the conclusion together.

“No, wait,” Lydia grabbed the back of both Stiles’ and Scott’s arms as they turned to run, “he left the gym after us, idiots, he couldn’t have gotten into the bathroom without us noticing him.”

“Yeah, unless he did,” Scott said silently, making it sound almost scary, “we’re going.”

* * *

“Your parents have been notified,” Coach said

“There’s no signal, the blizzard’s messing with the towers,” Stiles smiled smugly.

“Your detention slips have been filled in,” Coach said in a testy tone.

“It’s after hours, you can’t give us detention anymore,” Stiles informed as-a-matter-of-factly as Scott snickered next to him.

“You think you’re funny, Stilinski? Is he funny, McCall?”

“Uh, no, sir, not at all, but he kinda has a point,” Scott shrugged, looking far too amused to not think Stiles was being funny.

“Next time you decide to go looking for corpses, make sure I’m not the killer and you’re not looking for each other,” there was a vein sticking out on The Coach’s forehead, threatening to burst seemingly any moment.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles saluted dramatically before leaving The Coach’s office with Scott by his side. Isaac had not been the one that had killed himself in the bathroom, it had been another boy from the lacrosse team. A freshman. Miss Blake had found him and was in slight shock, although Stiles was more concerned about Miss Blake’s being in the boys’ locker room in the first place. She’d hurried back to the gym to tell someone, blood covering her hands as she rushed in the large room, stumbling before fainting. It had apparently been terrifying.

The problem was – they still had no idea where Isaac had gone. He’d disappeared, and if all the wolves were going crazy just like Scott had, then they had potential problems. Not only finding Isaac, but also Derek, Peter, Cora and Boyd, plus, Stiles was keeping a close eye on Scott in case he decided to take another ice shower.

Since Lydia was so good at finding dead people and Isaac was possibly trying to kill himself or someone right now, they asked the strawberry blonde to try and figure out where he was. Logically, he couldn’t have left the building, but, then again, there were many things that weren’t logical, yet made sense, like, oh, I don’t know, werewolves?

She just rolled her eyes and asked how they imagined that would work and Stiles handed her Isaac’s backpack that he’d left behind before departing on his mystery route. “What am I?” Lydia asked with an annoyed tone and looked to Scott, “A dog?”

“Lydia, please, this is serious,” Stiles informed as if that wasn’t clear already.

“I know, Stiles,” she said venomously, “but I’m not psychic, okay?”

“You’re something, aren’t you?” he pointed out and she grabbed the backpack with a look that could kill Stiles if she wanted it to. Maybe that’s what Stiles found so attractive in both Lydia and Derek – aggression.

She opened the zipper and started digging through his things, pulling out a couple of notebooks and a pen, a set of keys – probably to Derek’s place – which Stiles eyed longingly, and a pack of gum. “Fascinating,” Lydia rolled her eyes and opened a smaller compartment, pulling out a phone.

She looked up at Stiles and Scott sitting across from her on the gym floor and Stiles knew they both looked confused. Why wouldn’t Isaac have taken his phone, if he was leaving? Allison snatched it out of her best friend’s hand impatiently and tried unlocking it, only to have it demand a password. Which she knew. Instantly.

“How did you-“ Scott started.

“There are about a dozen texts from Peter, asking him to get to the Hale house,” Allison informed, ignoring Scott completely. It might have been Stiles’ imagination, but her fingers were shaking. And, possibly, so was her voice. “He wouldn’t just go there because Peter wanted him to. We have to look for him, right?”

Scott was visibly confused at her sudden Isaac knowledge. And so were the other two. There was something strange about Allison’s despair about Isaac, it didn’t seem like a reaction of just an acquaintance which she, as far as they knew, was to him. More than even a friend, perhaps, but for Scott’s sake Stiles didn’t want to think about the next step on that ladder.

“Yeah, we do,” Stiles said, knowing it was the right thing to do. Even if his brain automatically went to _he’s Derek’s pack. Derek’s._

“Great,” Lydia said casually and got up, heading straight for the door as her other three friends watched her walk into her doom, knowing for sure that someone was about to stop her. Surely enough, their math teacher walked right up to her and she began a dramatic explanation of exactly why she needs to get out of the gym right now. There might have even been tears involved. The teacher placed her hand on the strawberry blonde’s shoulder sympathetically and let her walk right out, shooting the three of them a glance as if saying to follow her. They exchanged a look and quickly jumped up to follow her, trying not to attract attention and failing miserably, although no one called them out on it.

“What did you tell her?” Scott asked.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” she shot back and headed for the stairs, leaving the others to wonder why she’s heading upstairs, but not question it, as she was the one to find the bodies, so she must have a reason. A feeling or something.

 _Stiles…_ A sickly sweet voice called out to him. He had never heard it before, it was loud and rang in his ears, even though it sounded like a whisper. _Stiles…_ The voice insisted and laughed as he turned around abruptly to find no one there.

“What was that?” he asked, stopping in the exact same spot where he’d had a panic attack just a few hours prior.

“What was what?” Scott turned around to look at his best friend, obviously not having heard the voice. Great, now he was going insane, lovely.

 _See you soon…_ the voice whispered again with the tiniest hint of amusement and everything was silent again.

“Stiles?” Scott said carefully, mimicking the voice perfectly. It had been a girl. Or a woman, he couldn’t tell. He could’ve sworn it sounded like his mother for a second, if not for the mockery undertones.

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” he promised and headed up the steps, following Allison and Lydia into the chemistry classroom to which the doors were swung open, moving ever so slightly in the draft they felt as soon as they came closer to it. The window was left wide open, the sudden winter outside making itself very noticeable as Stiles shivered in the sudden breeze.

“He jumped out the second floor window?” Stiles asked, trying to seem as normal as possible after having heard a ghost or whatever it had been. To be honest, he wouldn’t even be surprised anymore. Werewolves? Teenage girls finding dead bodies? Insane climate changes? Ghosts would not be the weirdest thing to happen today.

“Oh God,” Allison sighed, running over to it and leaning over the windowsill. Stiles noticed that the snow had stopped falling, leaving an at least a couple feet thick, white blanket on the ground. There was no blood in the snow, no twisted, Isaac-shaped body lying in it. Not even footprints leading away from the school, although those might have been blown away or snowed over.

“He’s probably fine,” Lydia stated, possibly having figured out the same thing Stiles just had.

“Probably isn’t good enough, though,” Allison stated and pushed everyone aside, heading back out the classroom, Scott following her like a lost puppy.

“We’re going after them, aren’t we?” Lydia pursed her lips.

“Yep,” Stiles sighed.

“And then out the window?” the question came out more as a statement.

“Probably,” Stiles shrugged.

“And then to the Hale house.”

“Sounds about right.”

“In the snow.”

“In September,” Stiles agreed and placed his hand on Lydia’s back before coaxing her down the stairs.

They found their two friends the second Allison swiftly jumped out the window. Stiles couldn’t help but notice she was wearing boots, while the rest of them would have to crawl through the woods with snow in their shoes – heels, in Lydia’s case.

Scott headed after her without a question, though his face looked an odd mixture of heart-broken and angry. “Here goes nothing,” Stiles winced, plopping himself onto the windowsill, “ladies first?” he offered.

“Shut up and jump out the Goddamn window,” Lydia commanded, then turned to leave before Stiles could even ask where she was going.

“Yes, ma’am,” he shivered, feeling another breeze hit him and jumped out with a grunt. It wasn’t a long jump, the snow made a pretty nice landing, but the idea of sneaking out of the school while they were being protectively looked after by all faculty members just seemed a little too ‘last year’ to Stiles. Not that he’d ever thought their lives would go back to normal now that his best friend was a _fucking werewolf_.

He had to make his friends wait for Lydia, Allison growing more impatient by the second until eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and said she’s leaving, but Scott wouldn’t let her go alone, so they left Stiles to wait for Lydia all on his own.

“Where the fuck did you go?” he asked as she finally approached the window several minutes later. She didn’t answer, just crawled out the window, having obvious difficulty with it since she was wearing a skirt, and jumped out. “You got boots,” Stiles noticed, although they were heeled, too.

“And a jacket. I’m not stupid, I don’t wanna freeze to death. I always have backups in my locker.”

“That’s…clever,” Stiles praised.

“No, that’s genius,” she mused and started walking across the snowy parking lot, obviously trying to seem like she wasn’t cold.

* * *

“So…” Stiles started after a few minutes of walking alone through the woods, “what’s up with Allison and Isaac?” he hoped his curiosity would distract him from not being able to feel his toes or fingers.

“Wish I knew,” she said after hesitating. As Allison’s best friend, she would surely have expected to be told about things like these. And the Isaac thing seemed big.

“You’d never heard her talk about him?” he asked.

“Not really, I didn’t even know she knew him better than ‘hi I’m Allison, hi, I’m Isaac’,” she seemed disappointed.

“Maybe they wanted to keep it secret,” Stiles said, trying to make her feel better, “whatever it is.”

“Yeah,” Lydia sighed, “maybe,” she said just as the Hale house came into view. For a second there Stiles was glad he’d have at least a bit of sanctuary, before remembering the house had no heating and the roof probably had enough holes to have parts of the house filled with snow.

The door creaked open, revealing…nothing. There was no one there and there were no sounds anywhere. Of course, Stiles had no super human hearing, but it seemed empty.

“They’re downstairs,” Lydia informed and Stiles didn’t question it, heading straight for the basement.

“…not happening, you’re fine, you’re fine, it’s me, please, it’s me,” Allison’s voice sounded tear-soaked and desperate.

“Isaac,” Scott said moving closer to where something huge was holding Allison up against a wall.

“Scott?” Stiles called out, earning a snarl from a dark corner which he couldn’t see, “okay, staying right here,” he raised one hand in defeat and keeping Lydia behind him with the other.

“He grabbed her as soon as we walked down here, he won’t let her go,” Scott sounded almost as desperate as Allison. Now that his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, Stiles could see Isaac holding Allison’s hands tightly behind her back and his sharp fangs were trailing against her neck. Looking into the direction where the snarl had come from, he saw Peter, perfectly human, watching the whole spectacle with only a _slightly_ wary expression.

“Isaac,” Allison pleaded in a whisper with her eyes closed. Something changed in him, he tensed and looked up to her face and Stiles could hear the faintest of whines. Allison opened her eyes cautiously and took her chance to take Isaac, and everyone else in the room, by surprise and kiss him, bringing him back almost instantly, having him realise what he’d almost done and start apologising immediately, letting go of her and stepping back. He wouldn’t even look in her eyes.

Needless to say Stiles gawked open-mouthed, unable to look at anyone but Scott who looked as if he’d been shattered into a million pieces. Allison rubbed her wrists, turning to Scott herself and saying his name softly a second before he turned and stormed out.

She _had_ broken up with him. That Stiles had to give to her.

But Scott had waited. And he’d never looked this heart-broken before.

* * *

”Scotty,” Stiles knocked on his best friend’s bedroom door again. Isaac had offered to come along, but Stiles had advised him to remain as far as possible, if he wanted to keep his limbs attached to the rest of his body.

According to Melissa, Scott hadn’t left his room and hadn’t eaten since he got home, rushed upstairs and locked his door. She had been very thankful when Stiles had explained what was wrong, as her own son wouldn’t speak a word and she’d almost worried herself to insanity. In her defence, he was a werewolf and not speaking, eating or even making a single sound for three days might have seemed like he’d dropped dead.

“You’re acting like a drama queen, man,” Stiles said, growing impatient. He’d been out here knocking for half an hour, trying to get Scott to come out of his room. He sighed, knowing that seeming like he was annoyed at him would never get him out, “We’re worried about you, buddy,” he admitted, sliding along the wall until his ass reached the floor.

The Sheriff had said the same thing to him in the car, driving home, after he, Lydia, Isaac and Allison had returned to the school that night. It had stopped sowing and parents were allowed to collect their children, only Sheriff Stilinski, Mr. Argent and Mrs. Martin had been told that their children were nowhere to be found, before they emerged from the forest, shaking and in shock – Allison more than the others. When asked where Scott was, Allison and Isaac perked up, but didn’t say anything, leaving Stiles to try and explain not only where they had disappeared to, but also why his best friend and usual partner in crime was nowhere to be found. “I’m not causing trouble,” he’d promised in return, but his father had retorted that that somehow didn’t calm him down. He’d texted Derek asking him where he’d been, but received no response.

“I’m not gonna make you talk about it,” Stiles promised the unresponsive door.

Allison had called Stiles in tears, saying she’d been texting Scott, but he wouldn’t answer or pick up when she called. He had no choice but to answer the same and listen to her cry for a couple of seconds. She sounded sorry. God, she’d looked it too that night. This obviously hadn’t been the way she’d meant for Scott to find out. “What exactly is this between you two?” Stiles had asked, but she hadn’t known how to explain. It had started during the summer with Isaac just making sure she was alright, and in time it grew and she couldn’t keep away from him anymore. She didn’t know what it was. It just was. Somehow, that made sense to Stiles and he sympathised.

“Just please let us know you’re still alive in there. I know you can hear me. Don’t do this to your mom, at least,” he said and saw an opportunity for guilt tripping, “some of us don’t have those anymore, you know.”

He only had to wait a few seconds and the door opened, “That was a dick move,” Scott said lowly.

“Dick move like locking yourself away and trying to starve to death?” Stiles jumped up from his position on the floor and hit Scott’s shoulder, watching his best friend not so much as even flinch, “You ass.”

“What happened to the nice Stiles from a minute ago?” Scott said monotony, making Stiles realise he was in no mood to speak and only came out because some part of him felt sorry for his best friend. Not that he minded. If it got Scott out of his room, he was fine with seeming a little pathetic.

“He’s still worried about you, buddy,” Stiles sighed.

“Sorry,” the werewolf admitted and headed for the stairs, “but I’m fine. Go home, Stiles.”

“Not before you go downstairs and eat. Maybe talk to your worried mother, be, you know, a normally functioning human.”

* * *

Not that he’d wanted to, but he did go home, knowing Scott and Melissa needed to talk and he had homework to do anyway. Homework that he’d probably have to give to Scott to copy off of, since the guy’s been moping in his room instead of coming to school.

The weather had gone back to normal almost immediately after it stopped snowing. It was warm again, melting the snow in a couple of hours, leaving the streets drenched and flowing with water, causing severe damage in a few basements.

Mayor Hexley hadn’t issued any sort of warning or damage control, insisting everything’s fine and would surely go back to normal soon. Stiles had never really liked the mayor, but he did a somewhat decent job, although Stiles had always thought there was something sketchy about him, but he was nice to the Sheriff and almost respectful towards women, so Stiles just tried to ignore the man as much as possible.

That being said, his father wasn’t too big of a fan of the mayor either, though his position in the town’s hierarchy permitted him of fucking with the other most important person in Beacon Hills other than himself. Yet dealing with the weird meteorological shit alone was putting him in an extra anti-mayor mode.

“How bad’s the damage?” Stiles asked when they were eating dinner in a diner not too far from the sheriff’s station, Sheriff Stilinski unable to leave his post for too long.

“A couple of flooded neighbourhoods, mostly basements and ground floors,” Stiles’ dad rubbed his eyes and Stiles noticed how tired and miserable his father looked, “Could’ve been worse.”

“Dad, you need to sleep,” Stiles admitted, suddenly feeling worried for his dad’s well-being. He knew he’d had a rough couple of days at work, so he’d let him eat something less healthy than a salad for once, hoping it would provide some sort of comfort, if just the slightest.

“I’d love to, trust me, son,” the Sheriff said, finishing his meal and calling a waiter to bring them the check, “but there’s just too much I still have to deal with.”

“Nothing that can’t wait a few hours,” Stiles said convincingly. He knew his dad was about to break and let him drive him home to sleep for at least a little while, “You need to sleep,” Stiles repeated, “self-care is important,” he insisted dramatically, making his dad laugh.

“Fine, you got to me,” he said and left a twenty on the table before getting up and leading Stiles outside by placing his hand on the back of his neck – a motion Stiles found comforting and safe.

* * *

Stiles had hoped getting Scott back to the real world and making his dad actually care for himself would stop the strange wave of insomnia that had hit him ever since the night of the blizzard. He hadn’t been able to sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time for almost a week now. It couldn’t have been the full moon, since that was still ten days away. But it definitely had something to do with his weird dreams. This was different from when he’d first realised his feelings for Derek. Back then he couldn’t sleep because he thought falling for the douche-wolf of the century made him insane. Now that he was used to feeling this way, his new genre of nightmare was less Sleepless in Seattle and more Paranormal Activity.

He would often see the forest, not much different from Derek’s backyard, which, at first, made him think he was still dreaming about the werewolf. But every time he woke up and fell asleep again, he would see something new. Sometimes it was a girl. Sometimes it was a strange, huge tree. Once it had been Mayor Hexley, once it had been Deaton. Most of the dreams featured Cora, but he refused taking it as a sign he liked the girl. Her brother? Anytime. Her? That just sounded like over-protective Derek time and he had no intention to feel his wrath upon him. He had no idea why his brain suddenly felt like mush, feeding him nonsense and making him reconsider his sanity for the millionth time in a year.

He sat up in his bed after seeing another montage of the woods and the mystery girl, only this time she’d looked right at him before he woke up and had said his name. For the first time she’d spoken to him. He was startled awake by her voice and he could’ve sworn it sounded like someone in his room had deliberately woken him up.

The theory of ghosts he’d offered himself as a joke suddenly seemed very possible, and he didn’t want to be alone in his house anymore, his father having left for night shift once again. He grabbed a hoodie and his car keys and headed out without really thinking about where he would go. Scott would be asleep and the Hale house, though empty and available for killing a few hours, was even scarier than his own and he did not feel compelled to go there at all.

So he drove. Aimlessly, but seemingly somewhere, the night chilly, but refreshing and still kind of scary under its dark veil. And only when he’d reached one of the old factory buildings in downtown Beacon Hills did he realise where his subconscious sleep-deprived brain had lead him to. Isaac had given him the address at school for emergencies, but Stiles had assumed he wouldn’t need it much. Little had he known that he’d be the one having an emergency.

He wasn’t even sure Isaac was who he wanted to speak with, but he’d already knocked and there was pretty much no going back, ding, dong, ditch not really an option, so he just stood and waited, surprisingly, just a few seconds.

“Stiles?” Derek looked confused, still wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, he looked just as sleep-deprived as Stiles felt, but not exactly like he’d just been woken up.

“Sorry, if I woke you up,” Stiles feeling jittery and odd in the werewolf’s company alone, realising he was still extremely easily frightened by him, his odd feelings having lessened that effect only slightly.

“You didn’t,” Derek said, but it sounded more like a question.

“It’s 2 a.m., though.”

“Stiles, did you just come all this way over here to tell me what time it is?” Derek sighed, having regained his usual asshole-ness.

“No, I…guess I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, “and Isaac gave me your address.”

“Isaac’s asleep,” Derek informed, “why aren’t you?”

“I’m…not sure,” Stiles looked down at his worn down pair of Converse, very well aware they’re still in the doorway and the not-so-comfortable-in-the-first-place conversation had turned even more awkward. The couch further into the apartment sure looked inviting and soft, even if Stiles knew he couldn’t sleep.

“Jesus, Stilinski, just come in,” Derek rolled his eyes and stepped away to let Stiles walk in the loft.

Saying the apartment wasn’t very furnished would be like saying McDonald’s isn’t very healthy. Other than the staircase that probably lead to Boyd, Cora and Isaac’s rooms, there was a couch, a few chairs, a desk and a bed. Stiles wasn’t even sure there was a kitchen anywhere, though he doubted someone as socially inept as Derek would go out for every single meal instead of finding an apartment with a kitchen.

“Why are you up so late?” Stiles asked, but Derek had disappeared, only to emerge about half a minute later with a glass of water. A well-raised host, Stiles noted. So the loft _did_ have a kitchen. Or, at least, a tap.

“I think you were right,” Derek confessed unwillingly.

“About what?” Stiles was genuinely bewildered.

“It’s not a coincidence. The animals, the weather. The fucking suicides,” he said and headed for his desk, “did you know two more people have killed themselves?”

“What?” Stiles stood up from the surprisingly comfortable couch and walked over to Derek, regretting the decision as soon as he could smell his cologne in such close proximity. The man smelled like the most beautiful mix of musky and sweet, and the slightest bit spicy. It did strange things to the pit of his stomach, but he tried to push past it, focusing his attention on the papers in front of him that looked like police files, “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Probably don’t ask that,” Derek said, making Stiles scoff and look at the older man, just to find him smiling back at him which did the opposite of helping that stomach thing that was happening. “Anyway,” Derek turned serious suspiciously quickly and turned back to his desk. There was something about the darkness of the place and the light only shining on the desk that created this spy-esque ambiance, making Stiles feel like the Bond girl. Except he wasn’t getting any from the Bond. And he wanted some from the Bond.

“Who are they?” Stiles asked, distracting himself from Derek’s strong, elegant hands skimming over the pages, God knew Stiles had imagined those fingers doing things no one had ever done to him, running over his pale skin instead of the cold paper, shoving, pulling, pressing, intruding…

“A couple of teens,” Derek passed him the files as the younger one of the two kept his eyes locked on the other’s hands, “know them?”

“Uh, no, I think,” he said shakily before clearing his throat, looking at the first boy. He had never seen him before, must be going to the other school in town. Though, even if he had been going to the same school as Stiles, there was no guarantee he’d know him, being just one piece in the grey mass, not really stretching out his friend group beyond necessity. He thought about how he should pay more attention to the people he goes to school with as he turned the page, “Oh my God,” he said the second he saw the picture of the second victim.

“What?” Derek looked uncharacteristically alarmed.

He couldn’t believe it. There was no way his eyes were showing the truth. He was already in denial and it had only been a second. There was a knot forming in his mouth and he found it difficult to find words. Any words. “Heather,” he sighed, tears already rushing to his eyes. He didn’t care how whimpery and pathetic he’d get. Derek already thought as little as humanly possible of him, he had nothing to hide. And he had a friend to mourn.

“You knew her,” Derek stated, putting away the file and his hand firmly on Stiles’ shoulder, the grief mixing with an oddly comfortable, almost pain-relieving gesture as Derek pressed his palm into Stiles’ shoulder blade. Well, soothing in theory. In reality, his touch was burning hot and tingly, as if filled with electricity, but he didn’t pull away. It was confusing, and he felt guilty as a part of him was obviously mourning Heather.

“We grew up together,” Stiles leaned into Derek’s touch, letting a tear roll down his face and land on his childhood best friend’s picture. “When was this? When did she do it?”

Derek hesitated, almost affectionately, “Two days ago.”

“Fuck,” Stiles said after a sob escaped, “fuck,” he repeated, throwing the file back onto the desk. So that’s why he hadn’t seen his dad once in the past 48 hours. He’d been avoiding him, so he wouldn’t have to be the bearer of bad news. He hadn't known how to tell him. God knows telling Stiles his mother died had been the most painful thing the Sheriff had ever endured. And the man’s been shot twice.

“I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, knowing full well that he wasn’t. But something was happening and this wasn’t all just by accident. Derek’s grip on the human’s shoulder never faltered.

“They’re bringing in the FBI tomorrow,” Derek said suddenly, after about a minute of Stiles just leaning against the desk, trying his best not to break into another panic attack.

“Feds in a town full of werewolves and God knows what else. That sounds like it’s gonna end well,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, unless you wanna tell your dad about Scott, Isaac and, well, my entire family,” Derek moved to the other side of the desk to put away the case files, revealing printed out pages of research – something that looked a lot like it could be Stiles’ doing, “I don’t really see a way out other than keep away from them as much as possible.” As soon as he stepped away, Stiles’ shoulder felt cold and the space empty, and he just wanted the hand back, since that was all he would ever get from the gorgeous man in front of him.

“They’re suicides, Derek,” Stiles reminded, “haven’t you seen 13 Reasons Why? They’re gonna question everyone possible. She used to be my best friend,” he reminded, feeling something stab at his chest.

“I obviously haven’t,” Derek scoffed as if Stiles implying he ever would was the most demeaning thing he’d ever heard.

People were killing themselves. He knew Heather very well. She would never do that to her family. She would never do that to herself, she was nothing like that, all smiley and bubbly, and never fucking depressed. He knew this was no coincidence, so many people killing themselves. Neither was the blizzard thing. Or Scott and Isaac acting so weird. He needed to figure this out. God knows the police and the FBI are never going to get anywhere, and he was the human. The smart one. The brains. He needed to get to the bottom of this. If not for the sake of his own sanity, then for Heather.

“Hey, where were you the night I texted you?” Stiles asked, suddenly interrupting the silence.

“Night of the blizzard? Here. I didn’t feel like chatting.”

“Yeah, you never do, big guy,” Stiles slapped the werewolf’s bicep twice before reaching for his phone, “Only that night all the werewolves went crazy. And you weren’t there.”

“Because I was here. And I didn’t go crazy. Neither did Cora. Or Peter.”

“Wait, but Peter was at your house,” Stiles’ eyebrows knitted together.

“He said he’d been fine,” Derek looked a bit confused now, too, “Why does it matter anyway?”

“Because Isaac almost killed his fucking girlfriend and Scott tried to freeze himself to death,” Stiles stood up straight and winced at himself for calling Allison Isaac’s girlfriend. But fuck the bro code, this wasn’t his fault, it was Allison’s.

“And Boyd wasn’t fun to be around either,” Derek’s eyebrows knotted together again.

“So why were the Hales fine?” Stiles pointed out what they were both already thinking.

“It was new moon that night.”

“So?”

Derek shrugged. Stiles had never seen him shrug. “Just though that might mean something,” he said and headed back into the dark, towards his couch,” you’re the brains, you should know.”

“You’re the werewolf,” Stiles felt himself growing tired and annoyed, but mostly tired, “you should know.”

“Right,” Derek huffed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, suddenly looking adorably sleepy. Stiles didn’t know whether he should leave or not, so he just stood uncomfortably, letting the silence take over the room.

He imagined staying. He imagined climbing onto Derek’s lap and attacking his lips, leaving a mark on his neck that would surely disappear as soon as it had appeared thanks to his supernatural healing abilities. Then he remembered he’d probably be skinned alive if he attempted anything near as insane.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, making Stiles jump, “about Heather. I forgot to say that.”

Stiles almost wanted to laugh. If he hadn’t been worried about the crotch of his jeans feeling awfully tight all of a sudden, he might’ve done just that.

“You’re not obligated to,” Stiles pointed out quite stupidly, wincing at himself for it.

“Isn’t it common courtesy?” Derek smirked and Stiles really, really, _really_ wanted to jump him.

“I, uh, guess,” Stiles felt heat creeping up his neck and he was glad it was mostly dark in the loft, “but it’s not like you’re the biggest gentleman in the world, dude,” he laughed.

“Hey, you little shit, don’t speak to me like that when I’m giving you a place to sleep,” Derek was actually full-on smiling.

“Oh, I’m staying, am I?” Stiles snorted a laugh.

“Like I’m letting your fragile little human body drive home sleep-deprived,” Derek rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, moving towards his bed in the far corner of the room, his returned smirk indicating he knew Stiles was watching his every move with his mouth agape and in full-on awe.

“I’m not fucking fragile,” was the only comeback Stiles could think of and he cringed at himself mentally hard enough to almost give himself a headache just as Derek threw him a blanket with an audible, but silent laugh. Sure, the comebacks were a bit of a stretch, but he did feel slightly proud of himself for keeping it in his pants, and that was probably more important to his sense of pride, if he even had any left by this point, than getting a boner. _Focus, Stilinski, he’d murder you,_ he told himself.

So now he was apparently staying over at Derek’s. He mulled this single thought over as he laid down on the slightly-too-short-for-his-body couch and sighed loudly as he covered himself with the thin material that looked far too fancy to belong to Derek. Then again, Cora was a teenage girl whose tastes probably reached beyond Derek’s interior design abilities. Anyone’s taste was better than broody old Derek’s. He’d probably rather live out in the woods, running around naked in his wolf form all day, if given the choice.

How the hell was he on his couch now? Fuck, how the hell was he so attracted to him? No, scratch that, the man was a Greek god, attraction wasn’t the weird thing here. It was that Derek seemed almost tolerable. All nice – or at least less rude – considerate and smiling? The man was _smiling_ now. What’s next? Gerard Argent will start donating to charities and handing out free lollipops?

The weirdest part of the night was realizing that the slight Derek musk left on the couch was calming him, making him sleepy, his eyelids heavy as he breathed in as deep as he could just to sense the slightest remains of Derek.

“Nigh, night, Sourwolf,” he yawned, before he could stop himself, the sleep he’d missed out on was catching up to him all at once and anything seemed like a good idea.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said casually and it might have been Stiles’ already half-dreaming state of mind, but Derek didn’t sound snide or annoyed, he sounded like he was smiling and, if Stiles hadn’t suddenly become almost inexplicably tired, he would’ve been thrown off by it.

_You think he likes you, huh?_

The girl’s voice was in his head as he was about to slip into unconsciousness.

 _You? The ordinary one? The human?_ She laughed. _Sure, why not. Weirder things have happened in this town, right, Stiles?_

He wasn’t able to answer. He couldn’t. He felt like there was something heavy inside his skull and it was pressing down on him until he fell into a dull, dreamless sleep.

* * *

He was startled awake by something. He couldn’t see or hear anything that could’ve done that, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember if it was something he dreamed of – he was sure he hadn’t dreamed at all, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of something or someone waking him.

The greyness of the morning looked dull and depressing and suddenly he remembered Heather. She was gone. Forever. Never to be spoken to again. Never to be joked with again. She had tried to kiss Stiles once in a drunken blur of a birthday party, so he’d felt too awkward afterwards to talk to her for a while, but that just had turned out to be the biggest regret he could think of. His last memory of her will forever be leaning away from her on her couch, on her birthday. Well, that and the picture of her pale, lifeless face on the autopsy report.

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked over to the far, dark corner of Derek’s loft. The werewolf was still in his bed, an arm spread over his face to hide it from the single ray of grey, cloudy light trying to intrude his closed eyes. It was a beautiful arm. And those were some beautiful eyes, but getting caught sleeping on the couch of a man who had hated his guts just a few months ago and couldn’t stand to be around him was not something he wanted to deal with. The death of his childhood best friend seemed like enough for one day.

So he got up. And he put his shoes on to leave. He looked back before heading for the door to catch one final glance of the gorgeous man sleeping merely a couple steps away, but a door creaking open upstairs was reason enough to hurry and leave the loft without finding out which of the teenagers had gotten up so early on a Saturday morning. Right into the rain. Well, at least it wasn’t another blizzard.

He felt oddly rested, even though his slumber had only lasted for a few hours, but he was very aware of how mopey the weather was and how much difficulty the puddles created in getting home. The flood hadn’t stopped and the rain didn’t look like it was going to seize any time soon, so he just focused on getting himself home as safely as possible.

“Stiles!” his father yelled as soon as he came through the door, “Where the hell have you been?”

“Dad,” Stiles tried to keep calm, his drowsiness catching up to him now that he was home and warm.

“No, you listen to me, young man,” the Sheriff said sternly and paused, as if pondering what to say next, “Look, I don’t know what is going on with you lately, but I really don’t understand it. You used to barely leave the house just a year ago and now you’re going around at nights, wondering the woods and disappear for hours without a notice? What is up with you?”

“Dad, why didn’t you tell me about Heather?” Stiles looked up to him to see all anger fade and turn to guilt. Stiles didn’t feel bad about using this as a way to get out of trouble. He didn’t care about getting grounded. He wanted to mourn in peace without his dad threatening to lock him in his room for the rest of the year.

“Stiles, I…”

“I’m gonna take a shower. And then I’m gonna call her parents,” Stiles cleared his throat to get rid of the tears that were about to break out, and walked past his father and up the stairs, “if I may.”

He didn’t wait for his father to respond. Sure, the man wasn’t to blame for her death. He wasn’t even to blame for not wanting to tell Stiles after everything they’d been through. And the yelling was very much justified. Stiles was just not really in the mood to be lectured.

So he took a shower in which he cried his eyes out, letting flow what he had been keeping inside him for the last 6 hours. He called Heather’s mom and expressed his condolences, she invited him to the funeral, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to go, but he supposed that Heather deserved the respect of him at least showing up, and he was exhausted. He felt so weak and useless. His limbs felt heavy, his head seemed made of lead and his eyes were drifting shut before he even made it to his bed.

_Oh, Stiles…_

The voice. It was back.

_Sorry she had to die. A shame, really._

He could barely focus, but he wanted to hear more.

_But you had to realise the stakes, Stiles, I had to make her do it._

“What are y…” he whispered into his pillow, his eyelids seemingly glued together, “Who are you?”

 _Beacon Hills’ doom,_ she answered sickeningly sweetly.

* * *

Stiles slept through the day and the following night, dreaming about the owner of the mysterious voice making Heather do things. Stupid, reckless things. He didn’t know how she’d done it, he didn’t want to look at the autopsy report. All he knew was that she would never do that herself. Ever.

He crept down the stairs, the heavy crying and overly long sleep pounding at his head. He wanted something to drink, that much he could make out. He downed a tall glass of water before noticing his dad sitting by the kitchen table.

“I made an omelet,” the Sheriff informed quietly, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table next to him. He was wearing a sweater which meant he wasn’t going to work today, or, at least, not yet. It hadn’t stopped raining, so Stiles assumed the Sheriff still had a lot of work to do since Mayor Hexley didn’t give a damn, but for the sake of his heartbroken son he’d probably left it all to poor Parrish.

Stiles grabbed a plate and scooped some tomato-infused egg onto it. His father wasn’t much of a chef, but the gesture was much appreciated, especially since it was still warm. He sat down opposite of his father who watched him patiently. “What?” he finally asked.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Heather,” his dad still sounded guilty, “I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know how, yeah, I get that,” Stiles took another bite, “Still, would’ve been nicer to hear it from you than Derek Hale,” he said without thinking.

“Hale?” the Sheriff raised his eyebrows, “What is it with you and that Hale kid?”

“Nothing!” Stiles shot back way too quickly, “Nothing,” he repeated more calmly.

“Stiles, I’m sorry about Heather. And I’m sorry about yelling at you, but you must understand how I feel, don’t you? If this is you rebelling because…”

“Jesus, I’m not rebelling, dad,” Stiles shouted, knowing that was a bit over the line, “Not everything has to be about me and you.”

“Then what is this about?” his father sat up, placing his elbows on the table, “Because there is so much I don’t understand at the station. I don’t want to be clueless about you, too.”

“Dad…” he wanted to tell him. Tell him everything. Call up Scott and ask him to turn his eyes yellow or show his fangs or grow that ugly ass beard. Anything. He just wanted his father to know.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully. He _would_ understand. He’d get used to it eventually. Melissa did and it was _her_ son that was the werewolf. The sheriff of the town surely deserved to know all there was to know, right?

“I’ve been having these nightmares,” Stiles blurted out, scared he was about to tell his very human father about his very supernatural friends, “they’re insane and…” his dad looked genuinely interested, “Never mind.”

“No, Stiles, come on. It’s me. You can tell me this stuff. Any stuff, kiddo.”

Stiles watched the newspaper sitting by his dad’s right arm, thinking of what to do. He’d never understood why his dad loved the whole drinking coffee and reading the paper every morning spiel. It wasn’t like he needed to read the newspaper, he was the sheriff, after all, if anyone knew everything going on in this town, it was him.

Well, not everything, obviously.

“Okay, look,” Stiles said suddenly, “I’ll tell you everything. But I need Scott for that, is that okay?”

“Stiles, what are you talking about?” the Sheriff asked as Stiles got up from the table to run upstairs and get his phone.

“You’ll understand, just…just give him a few minutes to get here.”

So this was happening. Stiles was about to tell his dad. Alright, no worries, staying calm is the key. The sheriff, of all people, deserved to know what was going on in the town he was supposed to be protecting. And blaming the weird stuff happening on the supernatural would be easier, even if no one still knew what the cause of it all was.

“What’s up? Why did you need me to come so quick?” Scott’s oblivious puppy face looked concerned, seeing Stiles just the slightest bit stressed about telling his human father a fairytale that he himself wouldn’t have believed before Scott was turned.

“It’s time,” Stiles said as Scott waved to the Sheriff now standing in the doorway.

“Yellow protocol?” Scott asked casually, as if telling a human was no big deal.

The yellow protocol was something they came up with before even Allison knew about werewolves and her family’s part in their existence. It was the _yellow_ protocol because of the colour Scott’s eyes turned when he, well, turned. They came up with it for situations just like these – when they needed someone to know. And, by God, Stiles’ dad needed to know.

“Yellow protocol,” Stiles affirmed and watched Scott take his shoes off out of politeness and walk into the kitchen before returning with one of the larger knives in the Stilinski collection.

“Scott, what the hell are you doing with that?” the Sheriff looked wary. The knife was just for the proof part of the whole thing. They needed to explain first, but there was no way in hell the rational Sheriff would ever believe a story about wolves, hunters, kanimas and whatever Lydia was.

“Okay, dad,” Stiles’ voice forced the Sheriff to pay attention to him now, “you know how there are all these inexplicable things happening all over the town and you don’t really know what’s happening and no one can get to the bottom of it?”

“Stiles, the last thing I need right now is a performance review from my own son,” Stiles knew this tone, it was the ‘ _I’m getting pissed, Stiles’_ tone.

“No, listen, dad. It’s not your fault. You just don’t know everything that’s going on here,” he said and looked to Scott for help.

“Sheriff,” Scot came over to stand next to Stiles.

“Are you about to tell me you two are gay?”

“What?” Stiles asked in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice.

“Because that’s fine with me,” the Sheriff added quickly.

“Oh no,” Scott laughed, “trust me I’m not the one who Sti-“ he was interrupted by Stiles’ elbow striking his rib with the most force Stiles was able to conjure, “No, sir, that’s not at all what we’re trying to tell you here,” Scott laughed.

“Scott is a werewolf,” Stiles panicked, earning a pointed look from his best friend.

“Uhhh, what?” the Sheriff asked as the two teenagers shared a short mental conversation scolding each other with just looks.

“Ok, look,” Stiles tried again, “last year before school started you got a call about a dead body in the woods sliced in half.”

“Yes, and I found you there, as well, if I recall correctly,” his dad did not look amused by the memory.

“Right, but I told you Scott wasn’t there, right?”

“Even though I was,” Scott chimed in.

“I went home all fine and dandy, but Scott got bitten by…something,” Stiles tried to seem calm as Scott lifted up his shirt, revealing the slightest hint of a scar on his hip.

“Jesus Christ, Scott,” the Sheriff got up to examine it, “what was that?”

“A wolf,” Scott said.

The Sheriff looked up in annoyance, “There haven’t been any wolves in California for-“

“Sixty years, yeah, we know, dad,” Stiles crossed his arms, “except this wasn’t just a wolf.”

“Let me guess, it was a werewolf,” his dad said in a tone that for a second sounded like he was starting to believe them, but no, of course not, they weren’t about to get out of this that easily.

“But it was,” Stiles promised as he watched his father press his fingers to his temples as if fighting a headache.

“Why are you two doing this?” the Sheriff sounded increasingly annoyed by the second.

“Scott?” Stiles was staring to panic again. They needed to get his dad’s attention back. He needed to understand everything.

“Right, yeah,” Scott said and swiftly wiped the blade of the knife against his palm, resulting in a seemingly deep cut.

“Scott!” the Sheriff yelled, taking the teen’s hand in his own, probably to turn it up and slow down the extensive bleeding. It was taking longer than usual to heal, but, then again, Scott had probably just gotten a bit carried away and cut too deep.

“Dad, it’s okay,” Stiles said calmly.

“Stiles, for God’s sake, he’s bleeding out in our living room, what of all this is okay? Are you two insane?” his dad looked up to him bringing out the stern father figure Stiles did not like. At all.

“Is he, though?” Stiles yelled back just as loud.

“Yes, he…” the Sheriff looked back at Scott’s hand to see the cut growing smaller and smaller until it left a completely healthy hand with some blood drying on it, “What the hell?”

“He has these really cool healing abilities,” Stiles said calmly, “because he’s not human, dad.”

The Sheriff looked into Scott’s eyes with a bewildered expression. He didn’t look as scared as Melissa had when she found out, but his child wasn’t the werewolf in this scenario.

“Scott,” the Sheriff said cautiously, letting go of the teen’s hand.

“Dad, please promise not to freak out right now,” Stiles said as calmly as he possible could.

“Why?” his dad looked at him with the tiniest bit of actual fear in his eyes before turning his attention back to Scott – his son’s best friend, the boy who had a knack for getting in trouble for just about anything, the boy that had eaten countless dinners with them and had slept under his roof about a thousand times – growing a beard, fangs and switching his eyes to yellow.

“What the absolute fuck?” the Sheriff said under his breath and Stiles noted the cursing which he rarely heard from his father, but absolutely loved for that exact reason.

“Now do you believe us?” Stiles asked as Scott came back down to his human form.

“Who else is like that?” the Sheriff asked, “Are you?” he suddenly got panicked, looking at his son.

“No, no, I’m just human, Dad.”

“Thank God,” he sighed in relief.

“But others include, oh god, where do I start?” Stiles huffed.

“Isaac Lahey,” Scott said, looking shocked at himself, probably having uttered the name for the first time since the night of the blizzard with the whole Allison thing, “Uh, Derek Hale.”

“His whole family actually,” Stiles added.

“His family’s dead,” the Sheriff reminded.

“Yeah, except his little sister and uncle. Who are, you know, werewolves.”

“Right, great,” his dad really seemed like he was trying to make sense of all of this and was having difficulty following along the mind map he was probably in the process of developing.

“Actually Peter died for a while, but Lydia brought him back.”

“Wait what?” that had really taken him aback, “Is Lydia…”

“No, no, no, no, no! She’s something different, we haven’t figured her out yet, she just finds dead bodies,” Stiles said simply, making his father’s eyes go wide, “But Jackson Whittemore is,” Stiles explained.

“Actually he was a Kanima for a while, ‘cause he sucks, but now he’s a werewolf,” Scott added.

“Yeah, but he’s in London, so who cares about that jackass,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“What is a Kanima?” the Sheriff asked, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Oh, that’s when the shape you take reflects the person you truly are,” Stiles explained as if that was no biggie.

“So Scott is a wolf on the inside?”

“No, no, Scott’s just a werewolf. He’s not a Kanima.”

“Right,” his father pondered over this, looking over to Scott and then back to his son again, “Is there anyone else I should know about?”

“I think it would be easier if we just told you when one of them came into play,” Scott said, stopping Stiles who was about to list a bunch of more names, some of which his dad has never even heard of.

“Oh, but the Argents are hunters, though, that’s’ kinda important,” Stiles remembered and Scott nodded in agreement.

“The argents? You dated a hunter?” the Sheriff turned to Scott.

“I didn’t know she was a hunter at first. And she didn’t know I was a werewolf. She actually didn’t know her family were hunters either. She was kinda oblivious to that whole side of this town.”

“That makes two of us,” the Sheriff sighed, “What else?”

“Deaton’s like this walking supernatural encyclopedia,” Stiles informed.

“Deaton? My friend the veterinarian, Deaton?”

“That’s the one,” Stiles snapped his fingers lazily.

“What does a werewolf hunter do?” his dad looked like he didn’t actually want to know.

“Besides killing werewolves?” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “well, Kate Argent took the liberty of burning Derek’s house down with his whole family inside, for example.”

“Jesus, seriously?”

“Ooh, yeah, big time.”

“Allison’s parents tried to kill me a bunch of times,” Scott shrugged, “but then her mom got bitten by…” he looked to Stiles who had a warning look on his face, “…someone, and had to kill herself to stop her from turning.”

“Because they’re insane,” Stiles added.

“Bitten by whom?”

“Not important,” the both said in unison.

“Okay,” the Sheriff sighed and rubbed his eyes, “and why are you suddenly telling me all of this?”

“Because you’re the sheriff. You need to know what’s happening in this town. And lately something weird’s been going on. With the weather and the…suicides. And the animals, remember when I told you about the animals?”

“Yeah, yeah, right…how about this. I go to work now and try to wrap my brain around this whole…situation and you two just stay out of trouble for as long as possible, sound like something you can do?”

“Yes sir,” Scott and Stiles said at the same time.

“Good boys,” the Sheriff said and headed upstairs to change, and Stiles was sure he heard him murmur something about _Goddamn werewolves_ under his breath.

“Well, he took that surprisingly well,” Scott stated.

“Yeah,” Stiles was almost confused by exactly _how_ well his father had responded. Sure, he’d gotten used to the whole thing, but his father was another story. He’d lived decades, believing one thing, and was now told something that turned his life upside down, not to mention only added difficulties at work and potential worries for his son’s wellbeing.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Scott asked, plopping himself onto the Stilinskis’ couch.

“What?”

“Well I offered telling your dad when this all started, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, Derek might have changed my mind,” Stiles murmured, heading for the kitchen, expectedly hearing his best friend’s footsteps behind him.

“What? When?” Scott demanded, “What?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Stiles tried to laugh it off, but knew it was already too late. He wouldn’t let it go, if it was the other way around, so why should Scott?

“Tell me, you minx,” Scott teased.

“What?” Stiles laughed back, “Don’t be an idiot, there’s nothing to tell,” he rolled his eyes.

“When was this?” Scott didn’t stand down. They sounded like thirteen year old girls gossiping about their crushes. Stiles did not like that.

“Will you leave it?” Stiles snapped, growing impatient. There was too much happening at once, the last thing he needed right now was someone pestering him about his already complicated love interest.

“Fine,” Scott raised his hands in defeat, a smile still playing on his lips. Stiles didn’t want to tell him about Heather. He didn’t want to be pitied. Derek seeing him cry was enough for the rest of his life, “Got any Pop tarts?”

“Check the pantry,” Stiles sagged into his chair, pulling up the newspaper his dad had left out on the table.

“Oh, nice, chocolate fudge,” Scott exclaimed and ripped open the silver packaging just as his phone started ringing, “Hey, mom,” he greeted her, biting down on the cheap pastry, before his face went blank and grey.

“What’s up?” Stiles mouthed.

“Yeah, I’ll be home in ten. No, mom, it’s fine, I’ll…yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine, just don’t worry. Yeah, bye.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in question as Scott shoved his phone back in his pocket and the rest of the Pop tart into his mouth, “Apparently,” Scott sighed, “my dad’s in town.”

“Right, the feds,” Stiles nodded slowly, remembering Derek mentioning the sheriff’s department bringing in the FBI to help with the cases.

“Yeah,” Scott sounded confused, “the feds.”

“Derek,” Stiles felt the need to clarify, judging by his best friend’s tone.

“Stole police files?”

“Not sure I wanted to know,” Stiles looked down to hide his smile. He still wasn’t sure why the rule-breaking asshole had such a distinct effect on him, but he had to admit – even when Derek did illegal shit, he made Stiles absolutely smitten.

“God, you’re whipped,” Scott snorted and put his jacket back on.

“You’re gonna be okay, dude?” Stiles asked before Scott had reached the door, following him and leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“Are _you_?” Scott turned around and looked at him as if staring into his soul. He knew that look. That was the ‘ _I know you better than anyone else in the world and I know something’s wrong’_ look.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles avoided eye contact and failed to sound normal.

“You tell me,” Scott demanded.

Stiles shrugged and shook his head slightly. He should tell Scott. He’d find out eventually. He’d tell him eventually. But he didn’t want to deal with it today, besides Scott had more pressing matters to deal with than feeling bad for Stiles, “Your dad is waiting.”

Scott nodded unsurely and his hand twitched over the doorknob before he visibly changed his mind and crossed the room to hug Stiles who, without thinking, sank into the embrace thankfully and hugged his best friend back tightly, ignoring the stinging in his eyes as he realised how glad he was to have Scott.

“Are you sure you two don’t wanna tell me something?” the Sheriff came downstairs, ready to go the station and obviously having noticed them.

Scott just laughed and placed a dramatically loud smooch on Stiles’ cheek to irritate his best friend, causing the opposite reaction instead and making him feel better. “Okay, enough, go,” Stiles pulled apart and shoved a laughing Scott out the door, followed by his father leaving for work, “Good luck, both of you,” he added before closing the door.

_Finally, Stiles._

The voice. The weird spooky-ass voice. It was back.

_We’re alone._

“Who are you?” Stiles looked around the room before locking the door. There were no Bluetooth speakers in their house that someone could be pranking him though, and there was no chance in hell someone could be in their house.

_Oh, Stiles, dear, I’m not here, you can stop freaking out._

The eye-roll in her voice was audible, but it disappeared immediately.

“How the hell do I not freak out?”

_Oooh, Stiles, sweetie, you don’t have to be afraid of anything. Trust me, I’m your friend._

“Odd for a friend to make my other friends try and kill themselves,” Stiles growled, all the other conversations of theirs springing to mind instantly. He wasn’t surprised there were ghosts in this town. The fact that they were causing nature to go wild and people commit suicides was no shock either.

_Oh, but you’ll see it’s all a much needed sacrifice in the end. You just can’t see the big picture yet. And, no I’m no ghost, I’m very much alive_

“Who are you?” Stiles demanded angrily, realising that the owner of the voice, whoever she was, could tell what he was thinking, but he knew there was no point in throwing a tantrum, “What do you want?”

_Stiles, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl in a happy family. Her mother was the sweetest woman on Earth and her father would do anything to protect them. Until she found out her mother was ill._

Stiles’ heart shrunk. He knew this story, only it wasn’t about a little girl. It was about him.

_Oh, honey, no, I’m not talking about you. See, this girl’s mother had done well to hide her depression from her family, until one day she couldn’t hide anymore. Her perfect husband brought her perfect daughter home from school and found his perfect wife in their perfect living room with her throat slit open, blood still oozing from the wound…_

“Jesus Christ, what the he-“

_That little girl lived with the image of her dead mother pressed into the back of her eyelids for years. Her father grew neglectful, hateful, spiteful. He did horrible things to innocent people. He made his daughter into a monster and sent her away._

“Who are you talking about,” Stiles asked silently, fearing he knew the answer already.

_Her only friend died in a fire, her father hated the sight of her because of how much she looked like her mother, the whole town though she was crazy, they were eager to see her locked away, out of harm’s way where she couldn’t hurt their children. But she hadn’t touched a hair on another person’s head. See, Stiles, her father took everything he did and pointed the blame to her. Then locked her away and lived happily alone. The king of the little kingdom that you call Beacon Hills._

The name of the town had never sounded more poisonous on anyone’s tongue as it did on hers. She despised it, she despised that man. Her father.

“Jackaline Hexley,” Stiles stated.

_There you go, Stiles. You truly are the brains of the operation, aren’t you? The human, the outcast, the one that sits on the bleachers while the werewolf jock stars do all the work and get all the praise, huh?_

That hit hard. Right below the belt. Everything Stiles thought of himself in contrast to Scott. Right there. Then again, if she could really see inside his head, that wasn’t an unexpected comment, was it?

_We’re the same, Stiles, you and I. We’re the neglected little things that no one really needs. We’re smart, sure, but useless._

“Your friend who died in the fire,” Stiles needed to change the subject.

_She loved me. For who I am. She was there for me when everyone else turned their backs on me. Her family took me in like one of their own. She was my sister. My fucking savior. And she’s gone and I’m alone._

Her tone was angry again as the ground started shaking, a low rumble like a small earthquake breaking out.

“Was it Cora?” Stiles asked quickly before she could cause another natural catastrophe, but she didn’t answer, he’d obviously taken her by surprise, “Cause, she’s alive, you know. Feisty as ever, just like her brother.”

Jackaline didn’t answer after that, but Stiles knew she’d heard, because the ground had stopped shaking. He hoped that would mean her calming down, at least for a while. He could use a calm funeral to say goodbye to Heather with the respect she deserved.

He shook Jackaline off, leaving worrying about her for later and focusing on getting into a suit and out the door without a breakdown.

* * *

He was looking in the mirror at his red eyes. He’d cried again in the shower. He had to pull it together. There was a low thud of his own blood flowing in his ears, like he was about to pass out. He barely heard the doorbell ring, but it managed to scare him anyway. He looked himself over once more in the mirror. He had outgrown his suit a bit, but he was sure no one would notice, it wasn’t like he was going to be the center of attention.

“Lydia,” he was surprised to say upon opening the door. She didn’t say anything, just hugged him. “Okay?”

“Are you ready? I’m coming with you,” she stated, obviously leaving Stiles no choice. “Lydia, wha-“ his eyebrows knitted together before realisation struck him, “Scott.”

“He’s a good, friend, Stiles,” she placed her hand on his shoulder. She was already wearing all black, although the whole honouring a dead person thing didn’t seem to matter to that short skirt of hers.

“I know,” he nodded, “okay, fine, we can go, I guess.”

The drive was silent. Stiles didn’t want to talk and Lydia felt awkward to the point that Stiles could sense it. It felt like she wanted to say something the whole time, but wasn’t sure what. Or how. “Are you okay?” she finally blurted out.

Stiles stretched out his neck as a reason to delay his answer, but he knew Lydia was smarter than to believe his “Yeah, sure,” right as it came out of his mouth.

She was polite enough not to comment on the fact that he was lying. Apparently compassion played a role in how often she had to be right about everything.

“No,” Stiles admitted, taking the turn for the church’s small parking lot, “obviously not.”

They sat in silence, but Lydia’s eyes never left Stiles, it felt as if she was trying to read him. Hell, the girl was a radar for dead people and she was about to go to a funeral, if anything, Stiles was sure her powers, whatever they were, were at their peak and she absolutely, unmistakably _was_ reading him.

“We can-“

“No,” Stiles stopped her before she could finish her suggestion and he would hear the option out loud, “I can’t bail.”

It took him a few deep, shaky breaths before he started feeling annoyed at himself. He hated funerals, absolutely detested them. The last one he had gone to, he’d had to say goodbye to the greatest person he knew, the person he loved the most in the world. Listening to his relatives and his dad’s friends’ condolences had made him almost sick, but the thought of never seeing his mother again had destroyed him. He hated, hated, _hated_ funerals.

He hated that he had to go to another one. He hated himself for not being able to get out of the car and face it. And he hated Lydia for looking at him with those big, sorry eyes, pitying him, feeling sorry for him. So he suck it up and he got out of the car, only pausing momentarily when seeing Heather’s dad leading her mother into the church, but he wouldn’t let himself turn back now, and neither would Lydia, since she wrapped her arm around his elbow and lead the way. His legs carried him along and he only barely registered Lydia’s steps next to him.

“Stiles?” Lydia asked with her hand on his shoulder after he stopped in the doorway. Her casket was there. It was just…there, its light wood the polar opposite of the church and of everyone who’s come to mourn the girl. It was closed and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if she was actually in there, her self-sliced body already slowly decomposing on its own, her cold, lifeless limbs laying stiff on the upholstered silk lining, her face painted to look like she’s just sleeping, yet somehow ending up looking horrifying and wrong as if something wasn’t quite right, but you can’t put your finger on it…. “Stiles?” Lydia repeated, snapping him out of it.

“Sorry, yeah,” he shook his head and noticed, for the first time, how many people were actually there. He felt as if he was intruding already, so he just slipped into the last row of the wooden benches, closely followed by Lydia, her hand still hooked on his elbow as if to make sure he doesn’t lose consciousness and fall.

He sat down and forced himself to look at Heather’s picture in the very front, surrounded by lit candles and white lilies. He knew she would’ve appreciated the gesture, she’d loved learning about other cultures and traditions.

He didn’t hear the pastor speaking, he tuned him out, tuned out Heather’s parents and friends’ speeches, tuned out Lydia’s hand on his knee, tuned out the muffled gasps of in-held cries escaping family members’ mouths, the snuffling, the sounds of people existing, he heard none of it. It wasn’t right, he thought, it wasn’t their time to make sounds and shed tears. It wasn’t about everyone here losing Heather as if she was theirs to lose. It was about Heather, about remembering her, about finding the force that made her put an end like this to her life, because she never would have out of free will, because it was _her_ that lost everything, not these people.

“I have to go,” Stiles whispered eagerly and got up without waiting for Lydia’s response. He was angry and sad and desperate for something, anything, in his life to stay solid and safe, without best friends turning into werewolves, animals behaving insanely or childhood friends killing themselves because a ghost told them to. He wanted vengeance and redemption without the slightest idea of how to get it.

He was glad he had sat down in the very end of the chapel, but upon leaving he realised no one would notice him leaving either way, everyone was too pre-occupied with mourning the grossly prematurely dead teenager.

He wasn’t thinking straight, that he knew. He wasn’t worrying about Lydia getting home or Heather’s parents thinking ill of him for leaving early. He wasn’t thinking at all. There was no actual destination he had planned as he got into his jeep, but it was seemingly taking him _somewhere_. He _was_ heading somewhere and he wasn’t sure whether the directions were truly muttered to him by Jackaline or if he was just imagining it because he currently couldn’t think of anyone else than her. She was his current biggest problem, and he needed to figure her out, he needed to talk to her.

“JACKALIIIINE!” he yelled almost monstrously as soon as he got out of his jeep. He found himself in the woods, the rotting leaves in all shades between yellow and brown crunching beneath his feet as he strut angrily further into the tree-covered area. “Jackaline,” he repeated warningly.

 _Stiles,_ she answered calmly, her sickly sweet voice echoing between the trees, scaring away a few birds that had previously been sitting on the branches. Stiles wasn’t the only one that could hear them. Every animal in a hundred feet radius could, Stiles was certain.

As soon as she answered, he had no clue what to say next. He was raging mad, his hands shaking, face burning, but he did not, for the life of him, know what to say next. He couldn’t yell at a ghost, he couldn’t throw a rampage at seemingly nothing. He hoped it was just a stage of grief, but it felt different when you had someone to blame.

_I didn’t do anything to her, Stiles._

“You made her kill herself,” he screamed, “She was happy. She was the nicest person in the world!” he let rage take over him, he couldn’t even control himself. He wished Jackaline was here and in physical form. He needed someone to scream at instead of empty air and trees, he needed someone to look at and blame.

_You loved her, didn’t you, Stiles?_

“Of course I did, she was my friend!”

_No, but did you love her?_

He took a moment to understand what she was implying, but he got there eventually, almost calming down thanks to how outrageously wrong she was.

“No, what? No, she was my…my friend,” he said, shaking his head, hoping that this wasn’t denial. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a dead person. And he though there was no way he could ever be attracted to someone even more unreachable than Derek Hale or Lydia Martin.

 _Ah, yes, of course, she’s not the one. No, it’s…something else, I can’t tell, but it’s so familiar, I just don’t quite see through it,_ she laughed. Laughed. There he was blaming her for murder and she was laughing and asking about his crushes? _Someone_ _else,_ she repeated.

“Stop that!” he demanded, “stop looking inside me and analysing me. You have no right to do that!”

_I can’t help it, Stiles, we’re connected._

”And why is that, huh? I never asked to be connected to you,” he was exhausted. Not even as much physically as just mentally. He was drained. He hated having to talk to emptiness, spinning around as his subconscious mind tried to find someone to look at, someone to converse _with._

_It wasn’t my choice, you are just so alike me._

“We’re nothing alike. You’re cold-blooded and evil.”

 _I’m not evil, Stiles,_ she sounded angry, finally, she had emotions again, _I’m vengeful._

“Killing innocent people won’t hurt your father,” Stiles reminded.

_No, but making this town enough of a mess will make him desperate and show how horrible he is. Maybe then people will finally hate him. Like they hate me._

Stiles tried not to think about her sounding insane and desperately clinging to a crazy plan.

“No one hates you…”

_No, they’re just terrified of me and think I’m insane. But I’m not insane, Stiles. I have a clearer view of the world than anyone else._

“Jackaline,” Stiles started…

 _Tell me who you love, so I don’t kill anyone dear to you again. I want to be your friend, Stiles, but there are means to come to an end,_ she said calmly again, but her tone wasn’t the same sickly sweet as before, it was genuine _._

“Just stop killing people altogether,” Stiles suggested, trying his best to stay calm as well.

 _Derek,_ she said and Stiles froze. He was never going to tell her about anyone dear to him, in case she suddenly changed her mind and decided to make Stiles’ life a living hell, but hearing Derek’s name made him sure he couldn’t stop her. She could see inside him and he was terrified.

He opened his mouth and inhaled to say something, but his lips just bobbed open and closed again like that of a fish. He had no way of stopping her anymore. None.

 _It’s okay, Stiles, there’s no reason to be terrified,_ she assured, _I told you I wouldn’t hurt you again and I meant it._

“Leave him alone,” Stiles ordered, “leave my family and my friends alone, too, just stay away from me!” he was back to yelling.

 _I will, Stiles, I promise,_ her tone was heated, as well, but he could hear she was trying to keep herself in check for his sake.

“Because you will never be my friend if you do that to me,” he announced. He hated the idea of someone like that thinking they could be his friend or that he could ever even stand them. But she _had_ given him an idea. If he brought down her father she would be gone from his life. Forever. Hopefully.

_Exactly._

“Good,” Stiles said more to himself than her, as if she had just affirmed his plan. Then, without another word, he turned around and started back towards his car. ”What do you mean it’s familiar?” he asked, half-expecting her to not respond as if she was just as done with the conversation as he was, “You said it feels familiar. Why? Do you love someone?”

 _His sister,_ she said after a moment of hesitation, _I love Cora more than life._

He stopped himself from saying more. As much as he felt for her and knew how painful falling for a Hale could be, he still despised her, or, at least, he thought he did, and he didn’t want to let her become too familiar. He didn’t want to become too familiar, he needed his distance from her. For now.

Without another word, he walked back to his car and drove home, hoping the sandy road would lead him to the main road and back to Beacon Hills, since driving here was more instinct than conscious thought.

* * *

Stiles woke up with his alarm the next morning, dazed and unaware of where he was. For the first time in weeks he couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed about. Neither could he remember how he’d gone to sleep, but he just assumed he was too preoccupied with thinking over his conversation with Jackaline. The girl he hated and felt sorry for simultaneously.

He sat up, ignoring the pounding in his head he couldn’t understand why he even had and took a shower, got dressed and walked downstairs.

“Hey, buddy,” his father greeted him cautiously.

“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles promised and headed out the door without a breakfast. He didn’t feel like discussing the funeral or his outburst. He was surprised his dad looked so normal in the first place, especially the day after finding out about werewolves.

“Have a good day, Stiles,” the Sheriff said quickly before his son had the chance to slam the door shut.

“Love you, dad,” he said and closed the door, fumbling with his backpack on the way to his jeep, “Lydia?” he stated the girl’s presence. She was there. Again. Surprising him for the second day in a row.

“Stiles, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she seemed confused at her own words.

“I am,” Stiles’ lip caught between his teeth, “I’m really sorry I bailed on you yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly and they looked at each other for a moment in awkward silence, “Buuuut,” she said suddenly, “if you do feel sorry enough, you could drive me to school.”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” Stiles felt excited and tried his best no to show it, even though he failed miserably, “Hop in! Or, you know, climb in super lady-like, whatever you want.”

“Stiles,” Lydia said almost warningly.

“Right, sorry, let’s go,” he said and opened the passenger door for Lydia.

She fumbled with the radio the whole way there, none of the stations seemed to satisfy her, “just let it be,” Stiles laughed and Lydia looked at him with a surprised smile as if glad she was able to make Stiles anything else than mopey, “Aren’t you worried about your reputation?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Showing up to school first thing in the morning in my car.”

“No one knows who you are,” she shrugged and Stiles could hear that good old I’m-better-than-everybody-else vibe in her voice.

“Oh, wow, thanks,” he couldn’t help but laugh again as he pulled up in an empty parking spot.

“Anytime,” Lydia said as if she’d been the one to just have done the favor and not Stiles, letting him drive her here, flipped her strawberry blonde hair and walked to school without waiting for him.

“Alright then,” Stiles shook his head and got out. It shouldn’t have really been that surprising that he was driving Lydia to school, she had, after all, been hanging out with him, Scott and Allison for about a year now, but the surprised looks he got from his peers that happened to also be in the parking lot at that moment were like a fuel to him. His face immediately turned snarky, even though he couldn’t pull it off one bit.

“Stop that,” Scott advised, Stiles hadn’t seen him come up to him, but his hand was on his best friend’s shoulder a second later, “You look stupid.”

“Hey, thanks for that Lydia thing yesterday,” Stiles ignored his comment.

“No problem. Your dad told me, I’m sorry I couldn’t come, man.”

“That’s okay, really,” Stiles squeezed his shoulder again before retrieving his hand and starting towards the building.

“So…” Scott smirked, “dare I ask why you were driving her to school this morning?”

Stiles looked at him with a raised eyebrow and rolled his eyes at the smug smile his best friend was sporting, “Stop that,” he mimicked Scott, “She showed up on my front door this morning. I think she might have a thing for me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott said sarcastically, “girls are super into the whole pity thing. The sadder the hotter.”

“Alright, fuck you,” Stiles slammed the front door of the school in Scott’s face as he laughed, “Hey, how were things with your dad?” he asked once his best friend had caught up to him again.

“Oh,” Scott’s smile disappeared momentarily, “well, he took us to dinner and tried to reconnect. Which he’s really bad at, by the way.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know, dude, he’s just…”he paused and Stiles followed his gaze to the other end of the hallway where Allison and Isaac were standing by her locker and laughing without a care in the world, “…not my priority.”

“You gonna beat him up?” it was Stiles’ turn to smirk. Scott scoffed and turned into a different hallway. “Oh I see, so you’re just gonna avoid them,” Stiles stated, nodding his head, “sure, that’s healthy.” Scott didn’t respond, just headed into a classroom, “Okay, cool, I’ll see you at lunch then,” Stiles said to himself more than Scott and headed to his English class.

He couldn’t help but notice there was something different about Miss Blake that morning. She was almost…glowing?

“Did you hear?” Isaac asked, slipping into the chair next to him.

“What?” Stiles asked, genuinely confused.

“You’re just looking at her like… I just thought you…”

“What?” Stiles asked again, much more impatiently this time.

“Oh, shit, okay, to put it politely, Derek’s taping that,” Isaac smiled like a frat douche would smile when proud of his bro for landing a hottie.

“Right,” Stiles dragged, feeling his heart sink well into his stomach and the fall into a bottomless pit and smash into a million pieces, “How-how do you know that exactly?” He asked, fully aware he couldn’t look more disappointed than he did, but he didn’t have the amount of brain power to try and hide it. He was absolutely disappointed. It was worse than Lydia dating Jackson, because he was an obvious choice for her as the jock star to the prom queen, but he could not, for the life of him, see Derek with a high school teacher.

”She was in the loft this morning, Boyd and I had to hide so it wouldn’t be awkward,” Isaac sat back relaxed, looking at Stiles from the corner of his eye. Stiles knew Isaac could hear his heartbeat and he wasn’t sure what to make of the smugness in the other boy’s behaviour, “we had to walk since he drove her to school.”

“Very cool, Isaac,” Stiles turned to him possibly too angrily for a normal conversation, but Isaac didn’t falter and just kept smiling at Stiles knowingly, “So cool,” he sat back in his chair and pulled out a notebook as Isaac kept sniggering. His Smile didn’t disappear for the rest of the lesson and Stiles hated it. He was sure Isaac knew. He must have. And Stiles didn’t like people knowing his secrets. He also wasn’t sure if Isaac was just lying and testing him, but he hated it nonetheless. He kind of, almost hated Isaac, too, just for this.

“Hey, maybe keep the flirting with Allison down around Scott,” Stiles mentioned nonchalantly when the bell rang, announcing the end of the lesson and the first students jumped out of their chairs and left the classroom, “just FYI, you know, so Scott doesn’t rip you limb from limb,” he shrugged, wiping the smile right off Isaac’s face, “but that’s just a suggestion, I don’t really care too much.”

That made him slightly more satisfied, but the last forty minutes were filled with enough ignoring Shakespeare and thinking about Derek and the woman in front of him talking about The Bard to last him the rest of the day with the idea stomping him down. Scott didn’t ask what was wrong when they met again later, Stiles knew his best friend just assumed he was still thinking about Heather and Stiles was fine with that. He knew Scott wasn’t too fond of the idea of him being so attracted to Derek, so putting the blame on another problem seemed like a solution. He could also feel Isaac’s gaze on him throughout lunch, but he ignored it, sitting in the cafeteria and stabbing at his suspicious-looking meatloaf.

“You know,” Stiles cleared his throat, grabbing Scott’s attention, “staring at them might just make it worse,” he advised, having noticed Scott’s gaze slip over to Isaac and Allison once in a while who were having lunch a few tables over with Boyd and Lydia. A strange group, Stiles noted.

“Yeah,” Scott said absently, turning to his plate of untouched food, “it’s just…” he suddenly said, zapping Stiles out of the few seconds in which he had already managed to imagine Derek with someone else, “how has everything in my life become such a shit show?”

“Hey,” Stiles said in the most reassuring tone he could master, “you’ve still got me,” he winked as Scott looked up to him with a scoff.

Stiles hadn’t even really thought about Scott’s side of the last few days. He’d tried to freeze himself in a locker room shower, his first love, who he assumed would go back to being his girlfriend after the time they spent apart, was apparently dating another werewolf, his abandoning father had turned up again out of thin air and he just had to tell the father of his best friend who also just happens to be the sheriff that he’s a werewolf. And on top of all that he’d managed to take care of Stiles when he was down.

“I guess I will always have you no matter what.”

“Hey, that’s the spirit!”

“You’re like a tumor, never really leaving me,” Scott laughed to bring Stiles back down to earth.

“Alright, fucking uncalled for,” Stiles pursed his lips in dissatisfaction as his best friend kept giggling.

“Hey, you wanna hang out tonight? I’m not really in the mood for father-son time,” Scott winced at the idea.

“Uh, sure,” Stiles shrugged, but then a plan emerged in his mind, “You wanna help me do some research?”

* * *

“What exactly are we looking for?” Scott asked, having joined Stiles in the Beacon Hills public library. They had driven there separately since Scott hadn’t wanted to leave his bike at school. He found Stiles skimming through five years’ worth of old newspapers.

“Do you remember the mayor’s daughter?” Stiles asked, never letting his eyes run over the lines of text whenever an interesting enough article.

“Uh, I don’t know, I guess?” Scott sounded understandably confused, “Why?”

“Okay, this might sound insane,” Stiles sighed and finally looked the werewolf in the eyes, “but she’s been talking to me.”

Nothing in Scott’s face changed, he still looked interested, as if asking Stiles to continue, but there was no sight of ‘ _alright, my best friend’s insane, that’s a thing now’_.

“In my dreams at first,” he said, testing out the water to see if Scott’s understanding look would shift to something more condescending, “and then when I’m awake.”

“How?” Scott sounded genuinely interested, and Stiles couldn’t be happier to have such a great friend.

“Just her voice. I can talk to her whenever I want,” Stiles whispered carefully.

“Like right now?” the other teen seemed excited.

“Maybe,” Stiles admitted, “but the thing is,” he drew in a deep breath, “I think she’s the one responsible for all the weird bullshit happening in the town.”

“Okay, how? And why?”

“Well, remember when there was the whole thing about mayor Hexley sending his ‘insane’ daughter off to some ward somewhere?” he used finger quotes around the word _insane_ just in case he could offend Jackaline, and offending a ghost, or whatever she was, was not another problem he wanted to have to deal with, “Well, apparently, she’s not actually crazy, she just has a horrible father.”

“Can relate,” Scott laughed, “besides, I’ve never really liked the guy, he seems kind of…” he seemed to struggle with finishing the sentence.

“Off?” Stiles offered and Scott nodded, “Right, well Jackaline seems to think so, too,” he said, noticing Scott mouth her name to feel it on his tongue and remember it for later, “in fact, she thinks he’s so off she wants to destroy the town to get her revenge.”

“Alright…that’s not good.”

“No, not too great,” Stiles agreed.

“But why is she telling _you_ all of this?” Stiles couldn’t help but feel slightly offended by the disbelief in him. Sure, he was only an honorary member of the local supernatural teen fight club, but he was around. Either way, he let it go by without a sarcastic remark since Scott had been so understanding about the whole there’s-a-voice-talking-to-me-and-I-don’t-even-know-her-and-I-literally-sound-insane-but-please-believe-me thing. Besides, he had no wish to tell Scott about his deepest worry which just so happens to be the reason Jackaline was even talking to him, which was his painfully ordinary humanity. “I don’t know,” he said instead and ignored the way Scott’s eyes narrowed as he surely heard Stiles’ heartbeat falter at the lie, “she just said she feels connected to me,” he shrugged and turned back to the newspaper stack.

“Wait,” Scott’s hand was on his shoulder now, “does that mean she’s responsible for the weird suicides, as well?” Stiles just sighed and looked at his best friend sadly before averting his gaze again, “Heather?” his voice was close to a whisper now and Stiles just gave him a nod, not too eager to look into his pitying face.

“And she promised to never hurt anyone I love again, because,” he paused, prepared to sound stupider than ever, “she wants to be my friend.”

“Your friend?” Scott exclaimed, earning a few pointed looks from others in the silent library and a shooshing from the seemingly hundred-year-old librarian, “Is that what this is all about? You’re being friendly and taking down her father?” Scott asked in an accusing whisper while Stiles tried to shut him up, looking around at all the people that hadn’t turned away yet.

“No, okay? No, calm down,” he said as angrily as whispering allowed it, “but if I take down her father then maybe she’ll stop trying to destroy the town, huh?”

Scott seemed satisfied with that answer and calmed down almost instantly, “Okay,” he nodded, “fine. What can I do to help?”

“Find dirt on him,” Stiles smiled and handed the werewolf a heavy pile of old newspapers.

“Great.”

* * *

“I’m home,” Stiles announced, taking his shoes off in the doorway. He had spent three late afternoons in the library and had absolutely nothing to show for it. Scott would join him after lacrosse practice which Stiles would bail on, and then they would research any article in the local newspaper from the past five years. What they hadn’t taken into account until this afternoon, is that the only newspaper in the small town would not be the first in line to dish on its mayor. They had nothing but three wasted days filled with Jackaline’s rainstorms that started the second the sun set until exactly dawn each night.

Stiles was not one to stay too determined on tasks such as homework, so it was unusual for him to realise he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this for days. On the other hand, he tended to be hyper-focused on things that were important, like the occasional investigation or two that came with having a werewolf for a best friend, so maybe it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that this wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Where have you been?” his father called out from the kitchen. There was no added tone of worry in his voice, but Stiles did know the sound of it being hidden for dramatic effect, and this was that.

“Library with Scott,” he said as innocently as he could, ignoring the mountain of spaghetti his father had boiled in order to not make him even angrier.

“Every night this week?” The Sheriff raised a skeptical eyebrow, ready to accuse him of something, not knowing what it may be, but having Stiles as a son had proved enough times to be ready for the worst of mischief, so who could really blame the man?

“We have a project.”

“A project.”

“In history.”

“In history?”

Stiles watched his father quizzically, ready to throw a sarcastic remark about copying him, but deciding against it for his own good, “It’s on the mayor.”

That took his dad by surprise, “Hexley?”

“That is our mayor,” Stiles stated carefully, unsure of the origins of his father’s odd reaction, “why?”

“I might have something on him,” The Sheriff said nonchalantly.

“What do you have?” Stiles asked, his whole body leaning forward as his curiosity gets the best of him.

“What do _you_ have?” his dad sat back in the chair he’d been occupying during this conversation.

“I asked you first,” Stiles might not have been a cop, but he knew how to negotiate in a second grader level.

“I have a gun.”

“Real mature,” the teenager rolled his eyes dramatically and turned to go upstairs.

“Hold it,” his father called out before he had the chance to get out of earshot. He seemed to be debating whether or not to say whatever he wanted to say. “How is Scott?”

“He’s…” Stiles was about to say he was okay and ask why, but he realised what his dad had meant.

There was a teenage werewolf hanging out with his son every single day. There had been for over a year now. It was no wonder he was worried, the way he saw it, Stiles was in mortal danger at all times, but there was nothing he could do to keep them apart. Scott had never given him any reason to worry. And Stiles knew his dad loved Scott, he really did, and his views might be different if it was stiles that grew fangs and a beard every month, but he also understood the sentiment. The Sheriff just wanted to keep his son safe.

“He’s great, dad,” he said, implying with his eyes that there was nothing to worry about, throwing in a “same old” for good measure.

“Right,” The Sheriff smiled unsurely and went back to studying case files splattered across the kitchen table, “I’ll put these away and you’ll come eat some dinner with your old man, how does that sound?”

“Only if you tell me about Hexley,” Stiles tried to play it off as a joke, but actually did hope his dad would take it as a hint.

“Nice try, smart guy,” the older Stilinski scoffed and rested his chin on the palm of his hands as Stiles ascended the stairs to put his backpack away, but upon entering his rom, he sensed something was off. The atmosphere had shifted. It didn’t feel like his room. I didn’t smell like his room. It smelled like…

_Derek._

Stiles hoped he was just being paranoid and possibly a bit insane as he switched the light on as quickly as possible, angling his body to his right, but when the room came alight, the tall, dark, broody man was practically breathing into Stiles’ face, making him jump, only barely stifling the unmanly scream that threatened to break free.

“Fuck’s sake, Derek,” he hoped he sounded more threatening, or at least annoyed, than terrified as he whisper-yelled at the beautiful, beautiful werewolf to avoid his father hearing, “Why are you in my bedroom? Why are you even in my house, you maniac?”

“Why has news reached me that you’re involved in all the shit that’s been happening in the town?” Derek demanded, ignoring Stiles’ questions and stepping further, which Stiles didn’t think possible, but being so close to his crush – who, at this point, he realised he might possibly be head over heels for, that stupid, hot, incredible idiot – was physically painful.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles managed without stuttering. Surprisingly. Though it wasn’t too convincing.

Derek didn’t answer, instead growling in the back of his throat, making Stiles turned on, scared and uncomfortable at the same time. And he was sure Derek could easily smell all of those from a mile away, let alone half an inch. “Damn it, Scott,” Stiles sighed admitingly, if only to step away. It was becoming unbearable to be around the wolf and he was scared of losing his control around him.

“I’m not responsible for anything, just FYI,” Stiles commented, “but, yeah, alright,” he sighed after a few seconds’ hesitation, checked the hallway for his dad and continued, “There’s a girl. In my dreams,” he looked at Derek and saw him confused. Not only confused, but also about to punch Stiles. An odd mix of emotions, the human thought, “And not just my dreams,” he added quickly.

“The fuck,” Derek narrowed his eyes, “are you talking about?”

“Hexley,” Stiles quaked, taking a step backwards to avoid actually getting punched by an actual werewolf. But Derek froze, surveying Stiles carefully.

“What about Hexley?” he stepped forward to fill the space between them Stiles had enlarged, his words impatient and demanding.

“Jackaline Hexley,” Stiles licked his lips, enjoying the emotions mixing in Derek’s face, knowing he had managed to take the werewolf aback and was likely not about to be kicked or hit.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, your baby sister’s best friend,” he quirked an eyebrow, trying to feel like he had taken the control over the conversation, but knew, in reality, that was out of the question.

“How do you know that?” the werewolf marvelled.

“She told me, genius,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “try and follow along, won’t you?” he insisted, doing his best to ignore Derek’s warning growl and his smile when he surely heard Stiles’ heartbeat stutter in fear. Even in utter confusion, the man managed to be absolutely terrifying.

“She told you.”

“That she did.”

“In your dream.”

“Uh, no, not in my dream,” Stiles mocked. “In the woods.”

“You met her? Is she okay?” Derek demanded hastily, practically jumping forward, making Stiles slightly jealous of the worry.

“I did not meet her,” Stiles leaned back, scrunching up his face in distaste, as if watching a madman trying to chew his own hand off, “I only heard her,” he admitted, “I’ve only ever seen her in my dreams.”

Derek seemed to think that over. It’s not like it was too hard to understand, Stiles thought, she’s passive aggressive in his dreams and simply aggressive in his head when he’s awake. Doesn’t take a genius.

“So where was she when you heard her?” Derek pondered.

“You’re trying to bring logic into this?” Stiles belted, remembering his dad right downstairs, “You’re a fucking werewolf!” he retorted to whisper-screaming.

“So?”

“So? _So_? So, you’re not exactly the most mundane of creatures, are ya?” the human acknowledged and exhaled forcefully, trying his best to contain his annoyance at the gorgeous Greek god in front of him, “You, of all people, have to believe me,” he said calmly and saw Derek’s face shift. He was no longer irritated and resentful. It almost looked like he felt for Stiles, “You know her. She said you were always kind to her,” he couldn’t help but express his admiration, as much as he fought it, “She’s not like me. Not human. You can help, can’t you?”

Stiles could see Derek was currently looking for reasons against it, but he could also see that he was about to agree. He wasn’t even sure why he’d told Derek. Was he afraid of him? Of course. Was he unconditionally and possibly a bit too infatuated by him? Absolutely. Did he actually need his help? Debatable. Did he have any idea how Derek would even be able to help? None, whatsoever.

“Fine, you moron, I’ll help you.”

Stiles let out a sigh of relief and nodded, trying to come up with a plan as fast as possible while pretending Derek, of all people, agreeing to help didn’t make him insanely happy. “So? What do we do?” Derek asked. Which was what Stiles had been dreading.

Thankfully, he was saved by the smell of something frying downstairs and his name being called to dinner. Knowing he had a police sheriff a floor below made him feel somehow calmer, even though there probably wasn’t much his dad could do against another werewolf. Not that Stiles was even scared of Derek anymore.

“I’m going downstairs to manipulate my father into giving me dirt on Jackaline’s father. You’re getting the fuck out of my room,” Stiles stated, pushing Derek towards the open window he assumed he’d crawled in through. There was no way Stiles could have been able to push him anywhere, if Derek wasn’t already willing. Which, for some reason, made Stiles incredibly content with himself.

“And then what?” Derek demanded, leaning against the windowsill. There was something about the guy in moonlight and the mysterious darkness of Stiles’ room that made him want to kiss him so bad, but the unwillingness to have his limbs ripped from him one by one managed to win against it, making Stiles stand still and watch him.

“And then…” he stalled, “then we’ll see,” he shrugged for no better answer.

Derek’s eyes narrowed slightly as he searched Stiles’ face for any sign of what that meant for him before leaning back and nodding. “Let me know,” he said finally and leapt out the window, the words making the familiar Derek knot in Stiles’ stomach tighten as he watched the werewolf sprint across his backyard. Through all of the confusion in his life, one thing was for sure – in this domain, the Derek one, he was absolutely, completely and utterly screwed.

Stiles shook himself out of it and started walking downstairs, tripping on the backpack he had dropped in the doorway when Derek had startled him. “Spaghetti, meatballs and salad. Am I a chef or what?” the Sheriff looked pleased with himself.

“Dad,” said from the stairs.

“Okay, fine, I bought frozen meatballs, happy?”

“Dad,” Stiles said more persistently.

“Alright, fine, I bought the salad already made, but I did boil the pasta myself.”

“Dad!” Stiles almost yelled. Now, that made his father turn around, watching his son carefully, not sure of the sudden change of mood.

Stiles noted the change of scent around him. It was no longer musk and cologne, and sweet spice, and sweat. It was artificial and wrong. Food smelled wrong after being close to Derek for just minutes. Derek’s loft had been too new to have the smell stuck to it. The walls weren’t soaked in him yet, but they would be soon and Stiles won’t need superhuman sense of smell to feel it, to bask in it. He missed it already and hoped that he had remembered to close the window so it wouldn’t have aired out.

“What is it?” the Sheriff looked worried as Stiles tried to figure out how to ask this.

“What’s up with Hexley?” he spat out before he had the chance to lose his confidence. There was no time to spare. Jackaline was destroying the city, a new creative way every day and if he wanted to save everyone before she figured she can stop playing and kill them instead, he needed to do something. Do anything.

His dad sighed as if asking him to not start this again. He was really good at expressing his annoyance with a single sound or facial expression. Not that Stiles ever acknowledged it. “What is it with you and Hexley?”

“Dad,” Stiles started, but had no clue what to say next, so he left the doorway he’d been leaning on and came to sit at the table, “You’re the Sheriff. And your duty is to protect the city, right?”

“That is what the contract said,” the Sheriff mused with a smirk and crossed arms.

“And now that you know…about Scott,” he winced, trying to be as careful as possible. He only had one chance. His father immediately straightened up and looked weary. “Well, you get that there’s more happening than you know. And we’ve been dealing with it just fine for the past year.”

“What’s that now?” the Sheriff demanded, sounding like a strict dad punishing his son for missed homework.

“Dad, focus. I’m fine, aren’t I?” Stiles sighed, “But, dad, there’s more supernatural crap happening every day and I can’t sit on my ass and wait for it to resolve itself.”

The Sheriff sighed,“Alright, Stiles," he said, rubbing tiredness out of his eyes, "but why you?”

“Because someone has to!” he yelled, unable to stop himself as the words spilt off his tongue and left a loud echoing silence. His hands were shaking and it was obvious neither of them had expected anything like that. “And if that someone is me and maybe Derek then why don’t I just try?”

“Because you don’t turn into a beast with inhuman abilities and you can’t fight back!” his father fought back. He did have a great point and it did make a lot of sense, but Stiles was too riled up to agree. Or to think about what came out his mouth.

“Well, that’s why I’ll have Derek.”

“Hale?” the Sheriff looked puzzled, “Why are you even friends with him? And with so many werewolves?”

“What?” Stiles perked up, realising what he had just said. “No, we’re not friends, he’s just strong,” was his weak attempt at gathering up the spilt water.

“Oh, Christ, of course he is,” his dad rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms again, “Why are you even hanging out with him?”

“Because it’s safer that way!” Stiles shrugged, glad his father didn’t have a supernatural ability to tell when he’s lying. Unlike Derek, who, at this point, probably knew everything, and for some insane, bizarre reason still hung around. And hadn't skinned Stiles.

“Jesus, Stiles,” his father was pacing now. “Well the…at least…” he looked at a loss for words, “at least tell me how Hexley comes into all of this.”

“It’s…hard to explain,” he admitted. It was hard to lie to his dad and he really hated hiding things from him. Especially things that concerned the whole town. What was even worse, was the look on his father’s face as he realised he can’t help the town he was supposed to protect. It was a very specific look. It seemed similar to the one Scott had these days every time he saw Allison. “I just need you to trust me, dad.”

“If you make me regret this, I’ll feed you to Scott,” he pointed his finger dramatically before walking out of the room to get something, but Stiles just stood there smiling. Joking about Scott being a werewolf meant acceptance. Or, at least, the beginning of acceptance. Besides, if his dad accepted his best friend being a shape-shifting wolf, maybe he’d accept Stiles dating one. Not that Derek would ever sign off on something like that on his own free will – that was one thing Stiles was sure of.

The Sheriff returned with two folders, stuffed with papers, excerpts and newspaper clippings. Stiles recognised some of the headlines from his excessive trips to the library, only his father had pieced together things he and Scott had not been able to notice from just skimming through the papers once. There were accusations and questions written in pen on the sides of the articles and highlighters of different colours marking parts of the text, and Stiles assumed each colour corresponded to something else, creating a sort of organised chaos.

“Dad,” he mused airily, “this is incredible.”

“Not really,” the Sheriff sighed and placed a plate of food in front of his awestruck son, “nothing in there is solid enough to incriminate him,” he explained just as Stiles found a series of photos taken from a large distance of the Mayor making an obviously shady deal with a person whose back is turned to the camera.

“Are you sure none of this is good?” Stiles asked absently, turning his head to try and see what the Mayor was being handed.

“I know the law pretty well, son,” Mr. Stilinski dug into his own portion, “now eat, kid,” he ordered and Stiles put away the photo he had been holding, since his dad’s orders were authoritative enough to create a reflex in Stiles’ brain to do as told. “Anyway,” his father said after a minute of silent contemplation from both sides of the table, “some people get away with whatever sketchy crap they do. You just have to be influential enough,” the Sheriff said without lifting his gaze from his food, even though Stiles waited for him to, in surprise. “Some people just never go behind bars. Police deals with that every day, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles suspired, “sounds about right.” He couldn’t help but think about Allison’s creepy grandfather Gerard. It was no secret that the Argents were rich and powerful, not to mention a centuries old dynasty of werewolf murderers. So if it ever came to light that Gerard had taken part in something, anything illegal, it would come as no surprise to Stiles. Apparently, the same could be said about Mayor Hexley.

He wondered what he had done to Jackaline after her mother had died. He found himself worried for the girl. No one deserved to be abandoned by their parent, especially after losing one. Stiles knew he was lucky he had the father he did, because without each other they would’ve never gotten through the death of his mom.

“Do you,” Stiles started, feeling a lump in his throat forcing him to pause and clear his throat, “do you remember his wife?” he asked, hoping the question about the dead wife won’t swell up the same feelings his own thoughts just had to him.

“Yeah, sure,” his father shrugged, “she was a lovely woman. A shame, really, what happened.”

“What happened?” Stiles sat up straight, hoping, praying that the story adds up with the one Jackaline had told him and he hadn’t actually gone insane and imagined the girl he’d never even heard of before.

“Killed herself. She had a history of depression, apparently. Although she hid it very well, I had no idea.”

“So you do think she did it?” Stiles’ eyes narrowed involuntarily.

“Yes? Why?”

“No reason,” Stiles slouched back into his chair, acting as nonchalantly as possible.

“Saddest thing, really, was the kid,” the Sheriff seemed to suddenly remember, “Little Jackie, I think. According to Hexley she saw her mother’s dead body and went a bit bonkers, so he sent her off to a private institution somewhere in New York.”

_LIES!_

Jackaline. Stiles wished he could tell her to calm down, but, unless he wanted to risk his dad thinking he’d gone a bit bonkers, too, he could only sit and hope. She needed to calm down soon, though, since Stiles could now hear the wind outside through the closed window.

_ALL LIES, STILES!_

I know, I know, I know, he kept thinking, hoping she could read his mind once again as she had before. I believe you, Jackaline, I know. There was no answer from her, but the wind only stilled in a few minutes. Not that Sheriff Stilinski had noticed. Thank God.

“Can I have these?” Stiles asked carefully, reaching for the folder in front of him.

“Absolutely not, Stiles, no one can know I’m doing this, Hexley could jeopardise my whole carrier,” the Sheriff snitched the folder out of his son’s hand, “there’s no denying it, that man is a scary son of a bitch.”

“Wow, dad,” Stiles chuckled, but, seeing his father’s stern face, got serious himself and raised his hands in defeat, “yeah, yeah, no, of course, no taking the files, got it, for sure.”

“Right. I’m going to bed now,” the Sheriff informed, “and taking these with me,” he said as if explaining it to a complete idiot as Stiles watched him curiously, “to place them in the very secure third drawer on the left in my dresser,” he winked and walked away without another word, making Stiles smile in excitement.

“Love you, dad!” he called out after him and finally turned to the plate in front of him, only now realising how hungry he actually was, what with all the long hours in the library and Derek invading his bedroom. Great. Now he was thinking about Derek again.

* * *

“You’re gonna love this,” Lydia fumed, throwing a stack of books onto the table in front of Scott and Stiles, barely avoiding catapulting Stiles’ lunch across the room. The bindings looked ancient and the dust cloud from the impact reminded Stiles of a mushroom cloud of an explosion. She sat down in front of them and opened the book on the top of the pile, skimming through the open page with the help of her perfectly manicured finger as Allison sat down next to her, closely followed by Isaac.

Stiles felt Scott tense up and sit straighter without even having to look at him, but Isaac didn’t look at Scott. Instead, his challenging, calculating smirk was aimed at Stiles. Like a reminder that he knew his secret. Even though he didn’t, right? Stiles was just paranoid, right?

“Allison’s dad let me borrow a few books…”

“A few?” Stiles interrupted Lydia with a scoff, trying to distract himself from Isaac, but it only earned him a warning, deadly look from the strawberry blonde. “Alright, sorry. Hermione Granger much?”

If that last comment did bother Lydia, she ignored it and kept talking, “Since you have been so persistent that there is something wrong with me,” she kept looking at Stiles, mimicking Isaak’s challenge, and everyone else shot him a questioning look as well.

“Well, that’s completely taken out of con-“

“I decided,” Lydia continued insistently, “to ask the hunters of the supernatural for information. Someone in this town must know something, after all,” she sighed dramatically.

“Deaton would be my first choice, but okay,” Scott shrugged and both Lydia and Stiles turned to him slowly. Stiles couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. Deaton was the fucking walking encyclopedia of supernatural shit and he was trying to find a way to incriminate Hexley to calm down Jackaline? When all he needed to do was ask the werewolf doctor for advice. And judging by Lydia’s face, she was thinking the same thing.

“Damn it,” Lydia scolded under her breath, admitting her defeat, “okay, let’s go now.”

“I still have two periods, I can’t afford to skip them,” Scott had a point.

“This can surely wait two hours,” Allison said, pointedly avoiding Scott, even though her upper body was rested against Isaac’s.

Lydia seemed to think it over for a moment. Stiles knew how she felt. There really was something about her and wanting to find out as much as possible was the natural reaction. Especially with her determination and unsatisfiable thirst for knowledge. “Fine,” she decided and sat deeper into her chair.

“What did you find, though?” Stiles nodded to the books in front of his lunch tray.

“Banshees,” she said simply.

Saying that Stiles was confused was understatement. Not only had he never heard of the word, it gave him nothing to go on in figuring out what it meant, so he just sat and looked at the smartest girl he knew, hoping she would explain, but the rest of the group around the table looking equally confused did make him feel better. At least a bit.

“God, do you people ever read?” she rolled her eyes and proceeded to turn the heavy-looking book around towards Stiles and Scott, so they could see the drawing of an old cloaked woman sitting under a tree in the night.

“It’s an Irish witch?” Stiles asked, seeing the word ‘Irish’ in the second line of the text and assuming the first thing that came to mind.

“It’s not a witch, Stiles,” Lydia said defensively, “they do come from an Irish origin, though, but they are known to be prone to locating lost things and…death,” she looked away from Stiles’ eyes.

“It says here they scream. You don’t scream,” Scott was squinting to read the text as Stiles’ attention was drawn back to the creepy picture, “do you?”

“Not that I’m aware,” she looked down, which Stiles found suspicious. Upon looking back up, she caught Stiles’ questioning gaze and sighed, “Fine, I screamed once.”

“What?” Allison’s eyebrows drew together as both Stiles’ and Scott’s jaws dropped.

“It’s not a big deal, I had a bad dream,” Lydia was obviously lying and everyone was obviously not buying it, “fine, it was different, and I can’t explain it, and now I’m terrified, happy?” she whisper-yelled just as the bell rang, “now, if you will excuse me, I’m taking these books to my locker before I’m late for English.

At the mention of English, Isaac seemed to come back to life after silently following the conversation and smirked at Stiles again, as if knowing Stiles was already fuming at the thought of the young teacher and the man he loved. “Oh, fuck off,” he told Isaac before heading to his biology class.

* * *

“What, no Cora?” Stiles asked, seeing the empty passenger seat.

“Keeping her away from this, remember? Now get in,” Derek demanded.

“You know you’re being a douche about this, I have a car,” Stiles scoffed at Derek who had requested he get in his Camaro.

“No, you have a tin can on wheels,” Derek stated, sounding perfectly logical to Stiles, for some reason, “Get in,” he repeated.

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles took off his backpack angrily and got into the passenger seat of the shiny black car he wished the werewolf would let him drive one day, hugging the bag broodily and refusing to look anywhere but at the road as he heard Derek snicker.

Stiles had called Derek as soon as he got out of the classroom after last period, Scott right by his side instantly, to tell him to meet them at the vet’s, but Derek had insisted they meet at school so he could drive.

“What’s so bad about getting a ride in this?” Derek sounded like he was smiling, but as beautiful and unbelievable as that sounded, Stiles still refused to look at the man, “It’s a good car.”

“Overcompensating?” Stiles ridiculed, knowing perfectly well that there was no way Derek wasn’t packing something impressive.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Derek was smirking when Stiles finally turned to him, if only in shock of the werewolf’s statement.

“I think we both know there is no way I could know that,” Stiles winced at how bitter he sounded, but once it was out, there was no point trying to suck it back up, “that would be my English teacher you’re thinking of.”

“Jealous?” Derek asked casually, pulling up next to Allison’s car where she was getting out and chatting to Lydia, as Isaac, like a lovesick were-puppy, runs up to hold her hand.

“What?” Stiles could feel his heartbeat rise rapidly and see something tug at the corner of Derek’s mouth, “I’m not jealous. What?”

“Don’t teenage boys have some forbidden teacher kink or something?” Derek raised an eyebrow and his eyes flicked to Stiles’ chest for a split second as if checking his pulse, even though he could hear it nonetheless, as it slowed down when Stiles realised Derek meant jealous of him, not Jennifer fucking Blake.

“Weren’t you my age just a few years ago?” Stiles teased, “Did you have a teacher kink?”

“No, I had a girlfriend, Stiles,” he said as if blaming the teenager for no one being attracted to him, opening the car door, “and then I had other shit to worry about,” he sighed and got out, leaving Stiles feeling guilty for asking. Bringing up anything relating to Derek’s teen years and dead family had been an incredibly stupid accident that must be avoided until the day he dies.

Stiles ignored Isaac’s surprised look when he saw Derek, which turned into a knowing smile when he saw Stiles get out of the Alpha’s car. Scott was getting off his bike which meant all teenage awkwardness could end and they could go in and talk to Deaton and get back to saving the world, which now Stiles would take over all of the human bullshit going on in his head.

“Doctor Deaton?” Scott called out as the little bell above the door resonated throughout the empty vet clinic, announcing their arrival as they all piled into the small waiting room, “Doctor Deaton, are you here?” Scott ignored the silence and walked into the back of the store, used to working there.

“Scott, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Deaton’s calm voice rang from the back and Stiles followed his best friend into the backroom, “Oh, hello, Stiles,” he smiled, wiping his hands after placing what looked like a recently washed extremely sharp surgical instrument onto a towel to dry, “and Derek, Isaac, Miss Argent, Miss Martin,” he looked confused, “this isn’t an ambush, is it?”

“No, Doc,” Scott laughed, “we just had a couple of questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well,” Scott started, looking back to the rest of his friends as if asking what to do, but everyone just stared at him, waiting for him to do the talking, “we were just wondering,” he seemed unsure of where to go next, “if you, maybe, possibly, have come up with anything more than us? Concerning all the weird stuff that has been happening” Scott stumbled over his words unsurely. It was obvious he had no clue how to avoid telling the doc what they already knew and ask for more information simultaneously.

“Well, unfortunately I haven’t managed to solve that mystery yet, I’m sorry you had to come all this way t-“

“Do you know anything about the mayor’s daughter?” the question shot out of Stiles’ mouth before he was able to stop himself. Allison, along with her boyfriend and best friend watched him in complete and utter confusion, while Scott and Derek were sporting more of a ‘dude, what are you doing?’ look.

“Uh, yes, I believe she was institutionalised years ago, but I don’t see the relevancy.”

Stiles didn’t know how to answer to not look like an idiot. Saying he didn’t know what he’d meant by that would make him look crazy. Saying she’d been talking to him in his head would make him look batshit insane. The only thing to help him decide was knowing that the full moon was only a day away and if they didn’t do something quick, the town might spiral right into hell. “It’s her.”

“Stiles,” Derek warned, but he didn’t sound angry. More just…worried.

“She’s back. I don’t know how or where, but she is.”

“Has she been talking to you?” Deaton asked so calmly it made Stiles feel like there was a doctor trying to distinguish how insane exactly a mental patient was, “Establishing a connection? Making you empathic towards her?”

“Yes,” Stiles admitted quietly. “Why? Does that mean something?”

The doc thought it over for a second, “It might, actually,” Deaton pondered, “See, it’s no secret to any of you that this town is supernatural,” he said, “but it’s also magical. And Mayor Hexley’s wife was an amazing woman. And an incredibly magical one. She hid it well from the mundane folk, but to creatures such as you three young men here, she was the first one to turn to.”

“So she was basically you?” Allison asked.

“I guess you could say that,” Deaton chuckled. “She was my mentor. I’m something called a druid. We're basically healers and information sources. I would never fail to help you, if it was in my power to do so. But her strength, her magic…it was something godlike. And the kindness she carried herself with was absolutely unbelievable. So, when her daughter Jackaline was born, it was clear she would inherit the same power. That she would be the new age of magic. And she was. And by the sound of it – still is.”

“She sure is something,” Stiles murmured and caught, in his peripheral vision, Derek watching him curiously.

“If it is true, what you say, we should all be careful on this full moon,” Deaton advised, “possibly even have the police take extra measures?” he suggested, looking at Stiles.

“Yeah, not a problem, I already told my dad. Well, the werewolf part, not the part about the girl in my head destroying the town.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek said in disbelief.

“Moron,” Isaac added.

“That’s one place to start,” Deaton nodded, ignoring the comments, “I will try to think about what else can be done, but nothing springs to mind at the moment. The most important thing is for you all to stay extra careful tomorrow night. More than on your previous full moons. Especially you, Stiles. She has formed a bond with you. You care for her now. You need to be careful of letting her get too close. She has been hurt by the people in this town and she will not hesitate to hurt back, if that is indeed her plan.”

“It’s not the town,” Stiles stated, “it’s her dad. He’s the one she wants to get revenge on,” Stiles winced at how much like a low budget thriller that sounded. “Honestly, I just think she needs some human comfort. She still hasn’t gotten that since her mom died,” Stiles found great interest in looking at his hands instead of anyone else’s eyes and he knew they understood. Because no one gets over their mother dying. And finding Derek’s knowing eyes already on his, when he does look up, just approved his point.

“Still, being careful won’t do any bad,” Deaton said sternly. “Now if that is all, I have a road kill call to attend to.”

Just as they piled out of the room, Stiles heard Lydia softly saying something to Deaton about ‘another question’ and was glad she was getting closure on her self-investigation.

“You know, you should probably tie up Isaac and Boyd tomorrow night,” Stiles advised Derek as they headed to the Camaro.

“I’ll figure it out,” Derek’s answer was pointed and unwilling, like he used to talk to Stiles when they first met. Like he was a piece of lint under his fingernail he couldn’t wait to flick away at the first convenience.

“Worried, are we?” Stiles teased, testing his luck.

“You said she wouldn’t do anything to me, didn’t you?” he spat back.

“That’s what she said, but you know I can’t control her, right?” Stiles said seriously, “Just be careful, okay?”

“I don’t need you to worry about me,” Derek was almost poisonous now.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you?” Stiles talked back just as loud.

“Nothing!” Derek was louder.

“Good!” Stiles was even louder and then there was silence. Stiles wasn’t sure why Derek was suddenly so pissed at him. He assumed neither did Derek himself, judging solely by how untempted this temper tantrum was. It made no sense whatsoever. Just a few minutes prior they were bantering like old friends, and now Derek was being an actual fucking prick.

He got out in the parking lot of Beacon Hills High without another word to get back to his jeep. With no rhyme or reason for Derek’s unexpected change of heart, he didn’t feel like he needed to say anything along the lines of a goodbye. Or, for that matter, anything at all. No ‘stay safe tomorrow’ which he had actually planned to say, no ‘good luck’, no ‘I love you Derek hale, let’s get married and run off into the sunset together’. Even though, as potentially disastrous as that last one would’ve been, Stiles felt like it wouldn’t change Derek’s mood by much. Something had happened and there was no telling what to do now.

It only occurred to Stiles that it was raining when he was in his car. He looked up as if thanking Jackaline for mourning along with him. At least, he assumed that’s what was happening. She did seem to care for him a great deal, or, at least, she was good at pretending, in order to get what she wanted. He drove off, noticing the Camaro still standing where Stiles had gotten out of it. As if checking up on him to make sure he gets to his car safely. As if debating whether or not to get out and make things right. Stiles knew this, because he felt the same way. He wanted to walk back to the werewolf himself.

* * *

The Sheriff had offered to take the night shift upon Stiles’ request. Having an officer who had at least some understanding of the supernatural manning the desk was safer for everyone. Especially on a full moon night in a town controlled by an all-powerful magical druid teenage girl. There was no telling what she would do. And the fact that she had taken on the habit of not talking to Stiles at all for two whole days did not make him any less nervous about the whole thing.

There was a strange sort of grey covering the sky that morning. It didn’t feel like clouds. It felt like a heavy blob of nothingness threatening to crush them at the snap of Jackaline’s fingers. Stiles assumed it would clear in time for the moon to appear on the night sky. He had a feeling Jackaline wouldn’t waste a second of dramatic destruction.

Stiles never saw Isaac and Boyd at school. He assumed Derek had already tied them up somewhere in the loft or beaten them up senseless to keep them from doing something stupid. Allison looked worried, and Stiles was sure she knew what was going to happen. And she might have even been scared of Isaac doing what he had done on the night of the new moon. The night of the blizzard. The night he hadn’t been able to control himself around her.

Stiles was watching Scott like a hawk all day, but the guy showed no sign of having trouble dealing with the oncoming moon phase. He was his usual, casual self. If anything, he just seemed more relaxed. He didn’t seem to be worried about having to survive just a few hours later.

“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” Scott assured Stiles for what seemed to be about the hundredth time, “I know what to do with myself on full moons, man.”

“This is different and you know it,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “dude, you can’t know what’s gonna happen.”

“Stiles, you don’t even know if anything will happen,” Scott reminded his best friend. Lydia looked unwell, coming out of the school along with a very distant looking Allison, and when she saw the pair of them, she rushed over instantly, yelling at people to move out the way and having obvious trouble coping with the stilettos she was wearing.

“Oh, but it will,” she promised, “I can feel it. It doesn’t feel good.”

“Lydia, you don’t even know what you are, you might not have any powers. For all we know, you’ve imagined all of this,” Scott reasoned, sounding annoyed as he got on his bike, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home and eating three large steaks, so I don’t feel like eating my mom tonight,” he said and drove off.

“And so it begins,” Stiles whispers, watching his best friend drive off.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Allison asks, having followed Lydia and watching the road, even though Scott’s gone.

Stiles nods slowly. Everything was crushing down on him. His best friend angry at him, his crush, whom he had almost seemed to be progressing with, despised him as much as he used to, and the girl who was supposed to be his dangerous, magical, freaky friend was no longer speaking to him. Plus they were all about to die in a couple of hours. “Yeah,” he admitted, “we’re fucked.”

He tried not to think about it too much as he drove home. Scott didn’t want his help? Fine, the dumbass could scratch through his own wall for all he cared, then run into the woods and eat a mountain lion. He had offered, all Scott had to do was not pretend to be a hero and let his best friend feel useful once in a while.

His attempt at cooking himself dinner failed miserably, probably since he was too distracted by mentally scolding Derek for being a dick for no reason. Stiles could imagine him sitting in the darkness of his apartment, watching Isaac and Boyd tied up to each other on the floor, yanking at the ropes and duct tape to get them looser and failing miserably because Derek is too strong and smart to tie them up wrong, and, damn it, Stiles was thinking about Derek’s muscles again.

And Jackaline? Jackaline could burn the forest down for all he cared, not letting him focus on Law & Order because he was too busy worrying if she was okay, if she was still alive. He almost wanted her to do something insane, just so he could know for sure she was still out there.

“Fuck’s sake,” Stiles growled, trying to stop worrying, since, apparently, he was the only one that cared about tonight. He turned on his back on the sofa aggressively, angry at the world and angry he could do nothing about it, when his phone buzzed. ‘need help come quick’. Scott.

* * *

There was water on the floor, streaming from the bathroom into Scott’s dark room, illuminated only by a strip of fluorescent light emitted from the on-suite. Stiles could hear heavy breathing mixed with a snarl or two once in a while. Stiles approached with caution, knowing Scott could hear him even without having to call out his name.

Stiles was glad Scott’s dad had had the brain to stay in a hotel as opposed to Melissa’s couch, successfully avoiding being here right now.

There was no danger of attacking per se, but Stiles couldn’t trust him. Not tonight. He opened the door wider, letting it creek open, and heard Scott’s breathing increase. “It’s okay, Scotty, it’s just me,” Stiles promised, taking a step further into the small room.

He could now see where the water was coming from the overflowing bathtub and still raining down from the shower-head. He would worry about his wet feet another day. Scott was hugging his knees, his claws digging into his own calves, leaving tiny trails of blood dripping into the bath water Stiles hoped was warm this time. “Help me,” Scott whispered helplessly, but there was something else to his voice. It sounded like he was trying to stop himself from doing…something bad.

“What do I do?” Stiles asked quietly, too scared by the answer.

“Wolfsbane,” Scott grunted.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to get wolfsbane, Scott?” Stiles panicked, looking around the room as his first instinct, only later realising that a werewolf wouldn’t keep any in a jar in his medicine cabinet. Scott’s answer was another long grunt.

“Alright, how about this?” Stiles could feel his fingers tremble. He was terrified of touching Scott, in case that triggered some primal urge to kill, but he held his breath and put his hand on the back of his best friend’s shoulder, ready to react, if Scott decides to attack, “I tie you up and lock the door.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Scott yelled monstrously.

“It’ll work, Scott, you’ll see,” Stiles assured and rushed out the room and downstairs, pretty certain he’d seen some duct tape in their kitchen before. Only when he’d dug it out of the drawer and celebrated in his head did he realise that maybe, just maybe, tying up Scott would infuriate his inner wolf. And maybe, just maybe, that wolf would break free from tape. Right after having this epiphany, hearing a creak from the stairs and turning around to see what that had been, he received a punch right in the face from the wolfed-out form of his best friend.

* * *

Driving with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a kitchen towel, pressed up to his bleeding nose, turned out to be much more difficult than expected. Deciding to go to Derek for help was not much easier. But with a werewolf roaming the streets and the temperature dropping to almost a wintery low, much thanks to Jackaline, surely, he did not seem to have much choice. Besides, the night was still young and things had a tendency to develop and escalate quickly in Beacon Hills.

The old factory building district in which Derek lived looked especially ominous in the glow of the plump moon. Stiles had been right – the thick clouds had all disappeared, leaving the moonlight bright and cold, shining down on Beacon Hills.

His knock on the door seemed loud and invasive. It sounded wrong in the almost ringing silence of the night, but he soldiered on, even when Derek’s pained face appeared in the open doorway. “Stiles, get out,” he growled, and Stiles was about to feel offended by the rude greeting, but then he noticed the trouble Derek appeared to have breathing, the veins mapping his skin like black rivers, his eyes bloodshot, red and…dangerous.

He was warning Stiles. Because something was wrong and he couldn’t control himself. He was keeping Stiles safe. Only problem was, and Derek should know that by now, Stiles was terrible at keeping himself safe, or, in fact, letting others do it for him. So he stepped inside, ignoring Derek’s request completely and walking past him into the broody, dark loft.

“Stiles, leave!”

“Where are Isaac and Boyd?” Stiles asked, looking around, finding no sign of the two teenagers, not even the sound of them barking somewhere upstairs, “Derek, where’s your sister?” he asked carefully, turning around to face the werewolf.

“Stiles, I can’t control myself, you have to leave, now!” Derek yelled, “Your bloody-ass face isn’t helping either!”

Stiles touched his nose, sending a jolt of pain through his skull, “Right, that happened,” he winced, “but that’s actually why I’m here. It’s Scott. He…ran away,” Stiles explained, “after, you know, kicking my face in with his werewolf paw.”

He looked at Derek again, but he didn’t seem to be listening. He was pressed up against the wall, as if steadying himself, stopping himself from attacking Stiles. Only Stiles wasn’t afraid. “No,” Stiles said steadily after Derek repeated his order for Stiles to leave, “I’m not going anywhere.” He had no idea where this sudden surge of courage had come from, but there was something tugging at his gut, telling him Derek wouldn’t hurt him.

“Why can’t you control it? You’ve never had trouble controlling it on full moon,” Stiles was starting to feel a bit panicky.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Derek yelled impatiently, making Stiles take a step back. Sure the man had been angry at him the day before, but this was a new lever of rage. This was a supernatural, I-can’t-keep-my-own-body-in-check lever of rage.

“Stiles,” Derek sounded almost sad, “Please go, just…please” he begged, taking uneven breaths and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the reality around him. Stiles imagined Derek’s heart rate. It had to be going through the roof. That couldn’t possibly be good, even for a werewolf.

So Stiles remembered what he did when he had a panic attack, and he knew there was no scenario in which asking Derek to hold his breath would work, so he took all the courage he still had and moved his feet across the room before it all had a chance to disappear into the ground, and he held his own breath as he grabbed a hold of Derek’s jaw…

And he kissed Derek.

And Derek froze.

And Stiles couldn’t stop it, because _he was kissing Derek Hale,_ and the full moon and the missing best friend, and the magical teenage maniac didn’t matter anymore. Nothing in the whole entire fucking world mattered anymore, because _Derek Hale was kissing him back_.

What was probably seconds turned into hours, years, eons. Stiles had no intention of ever leaving the roughness of Derek’s hand on his neck and the slight tang of iron in their mouths. He could grow old right here in this loft, if it meant Derek would keep his tongue in Stiles’ mouth forever. Or his other hand on Stiles’ ass.

Eventually – and Stiles had no way of telling how long after, all he had to go on was sore lips and potential stubble burn – his memory had rebooted and was giving out signals. Something about wolves. Or was it wizards? No, it was definitely werewolves.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed, but breaking the kiss just gave Derek the opportunity to move to Stiles’ pulse point. Which was in no way helpful to Stiles’ critical thinking, or the part of his brain that established priorities. “Derek, where are…” he couldn’t remember the names. There were no names. There were just Derek and Stiles. “Isaac? And Boyd?” he wasn’t sure, because Derek was sucking on his skin now and it was enough to make him forget everything prior to this moment.

“Ran away,” Derek sounded hungry, and Stiles got scared for a moment, but then Derek’s teeth grazed his jawline lightly and all was forgotten again. Who cared about them running away, right? With them here, there would be none of this happening.

“Where’s your sister?” Stiles asked breathlessly, unable to believe his willingness to go unkissed by Derek another second.

“Put her down for a few hours,” Derek’s hot breath sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“How?” Stiles was confused, “She’s a wolf, what did you use? A tranquilizer?”

“No,” Derek explained, “wolfsbane.”

“What?” Stiles pulled apart, seeing Derek’s heavy-lidded, lustful eyes for the first time, and scolding himself for pulling away from that, “so you just have wolfsbane lying around?”

“I live with three teenage werewolves, of course I have wolfsbane,” Derek laughed, the calmness in his voice almost foreign as he retrieved his hand from where it had been resting on Stiles’ neck, letting Stiles see the last of his blackened veins disappearing.

“Where do you keep it?” Stiles watched Derek’s arm.

“In a jar in my medicine cabinet,” Derek shrugged and went to the kitchen to get Stiles a rag for his bleeding face.

“Did you just fix my broken nose?” Stiles followed him into the kitchen, confused by the lack of pain in his face.

“I’m not a druid, I just took the pain away,” Derek said, pushing Stiles down onto a chair and wiping away at his face.

“Why?” Stiles asked softly, picking off a loose eyelash on Derek’s cheekbone.

“Well, you stopped me from murdering you. Even though I did feel like murdering you for the first second there during the stopping part,” Derek admitted, pointedly looking only at the bloodstains on Stiles’ skin instead of his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like that, Sourwolf,” Stiles teased. He would’ve been scared to do so, but now the water was spilled and Stiles could see Derek’s tiny, satisfied smirk, sense the tender skin where Derek’s stubble had rubbed against it, and feel the werewolf’s hand on his thigh, he knew the flirting was just beginning.

“Never said I didn’t,” Derek quirked an eyebrow and looked into Stiles’ eyes right before his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

“Damn it,” Stiles whispered, making Derek laugh.

“Take it,” Derek ordered and went to wash out the rag.

“Hello,” he greeted unwillingly, hoping that whoever was calling had the decency to keep it short.

“Stiles! It’s Doctor Deaton, there is something you need to know.”

* * *

Deaton’s ‘something you need to know’ turned into a drive to the woods to look for a mysterious magical tree that no one had stumbled upon for a thousand years. Apparently, it was the source of all the weird supernatural power Beacon Hills emitted. At least that’s as much as Stiles understood from everything Deaton had told him. The only thing he knew for sure was that it was a big tree and looked funky enough to unmistakably be the one.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Derek asked walking into the Preserve side by side with Stiles, not needing a flashlight unlike his new partner in…well, not crime, more like supernatural crime solving.

“A big tree,” Stiles said.

“How big?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, shining the flashlight in random directions.

“Do you know where it is?”

“No, dude, that’s why we’re searching for it.”

“How is it gonna help with Jackaline?”

“No clue.”

“Good to know you’ve got it all figured out,” Derek said surprisingly calmly, as if he’d gained a new patience for the human.

“I know right?” Styles snorted a laugh and kept walking, trying to not make it obvious that the small hill they were climbing made him breathless. “First,” he was about to announce his plan when he got to the top of it and didn’t see Derek next to him yet. “Derek?” he turned around to find the werewolf looking at his phone screen.

“We have to go back,” he said.

“What? Why?” Stiles’ eyebrows drew together.

“Because Boyd just sent me a suicide note.”

“WHAT?” Stiles yelled and ran back down the leaf-covered hill to see Derek’s phone.

There was far too much happening all at once, and Stiles realised that looking for a magical tree is not what they should have been doing in the first place. They should have looked for Scott, Boyd and Isaac. And once Stiles had skimmed through the text, he threw the phone back to Derek and ran back to his jeep.

“Step on it, Stiles,” Derek demanded.

“He wouldn’t actually do that, right?” Stiles asked, unsure whether he was really wondering or trying to convince the both of them.

“He’s been feeling incredibly guilty about Erica. If he’s lost control, just like I had, I can’t say what he could do.”

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles promised, once again unsure if he was trying to convince himself in order to calm down.

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek suddenly advised.

“What?”

“Calm down, your heart beat’s insane,” Derek’s voice was far too calm for the situation.

“I can’t calm down, what, are you insane?” Stiles panicked.

Derek didn’t answer, just placed his hand on Stiles’ leg, “Don’t drive us off the road, that won’t get us there any faster.”

Stiles took a deep, shaky breath, then another one, until it seemed he’d be fine breathing normally, “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Derek had no clue where Boyd could be, but, luckily, Stiles remembered they had a secret weapon. A death-sniffing dog, A Lydia.

“The banshee’s gonna find Boyd?” Derek asked.

“You know she’s a banshee?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Derek shrugged.

“Alright, we’re discussing that later, hold that thought,” Stiles said, waiting for Lydia to pick up, which didn’t take her much more than three seconds.

“What is it? What happened?” Lydia practically screamed into the phone.

“We need you to find som-“

“Good, because I have a strong urge to go to school,” Lydia sounded remorseful.

“Is it, by any chance, because you want to learn in the middle of the night?”

“Nope, it’s the other thing,” she sounded like she’d put the phone on speaker and was zipping something up, “I’ll meet you there, be quick, Stiles.”

Derek looked at him with a worrisome gaze, probably because he’d just heard the whole conversation, and Stiles didn’t need to elaborate more than “She’s got it.”

* * *

The dreary darkness of the empty school building, Stiles was reluctant to admit, had an oddly familiar quality to it. The moonlight coming through the windows was cold and unwelcoming, and waiting for Lydia to decide where to go seemed to take ages, but, just when Stiles was about to yell at her to make up her mind, Derek’s hand found Stiles’ shoulder as he whispered, “Don’t. Just let her.”

He slowed his breathing reluctantly, feeling his pulse stabilise, and whispered a quick “Thanks,” to Derek.

“Basement,” Lydia sounded disgusted and didn’t seem to be too keen on following the two of them as they ran through the halls with her walking quickly behind.

There was something dripping onto the walls, tubes mounted to the ceiling so low that Derek had to duck while running, and a growing heat, as if they were getting closer towards the center of the earth.

“Boyd!” Derek called out, hoping that he would still be alive somewhere.

“Derek,” Lydia said softly and Stiles noticed she had slowed down and was now looking at them empathetically, and when Stiles turned to her, she shook her head.

“Two heart beats,” Derek said, pointing to the end of the hallway and ignoring Lydia’s sad face, but Stiles knew. Stiles knew it was over.

“Come on,” Stiles took Lydia’s hand and lead her into the large room at the end of the hall where the large heater and water tank were located. And so were Isaac and Allison. And the presumably dead body of Boyd. Derek was crouching beside him already, trying to slap him awake, but there was too much blood. Allison was crying, Isaac was holding her head pressed up against his chest, Boyd wasn’t healing.

Stiles didn’t think much when Derek started crying. He had no idea the man cared so much for Boyd, but seeing him this way broke Styles’ heart. And that’s when he knew for sure. So he walked up to Derek and put his hand on his shoulder, hoping it would do, until Derek’s body sagged into Stiles’ and it was clear it was finally enough. They had each other. And they were enough.

* * *

Derek never asked Isaac and Allison what had happened. He never blamed them, Stiles knew, but his hand rested on the top of Derek’s spine, hoping it would comfort him, as they drove around, looking for Scott, hoping he wasn’t running around, wolfed out, naked and howling.

“I can drive you home,” Stiles suggested.

“Is there a possibility you’d give up on Scott and Jackaline and come with me?” Derek smiled sadly.

Stiles thought it over, and knew Scott and Jackaline were a priority, “Yeah…” he said nonetheless, “of course I would.”

“Liar,” Derek huffed a laugh.

“Damn it,” Stiles laughed, too. “We’ll find them and then.”

“No, we’ll find them and go get your face fixed,” Derek sighed and took Stiles’ hand from his shoulder into his hands.

“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you,” Stiles grinned.

Derek hummed in agreement and kissed Stiles’ knuckles, “If you ever tell anyone I’ll rip your throat out.”

“With your teeth, yeah, I’m aware,” Stiles remembered and felt relieved when Derek actually chuckled in response.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, lightning struck somewhere in the middle of the woods. A bright flash of white light and then complete silence as Stiles stopped his car and the two of them watched the forest, waiting for something new to happen. But nothing happened. That is, until they saw the smoke.

“Shit,” Stiles whispered and started the car again, turning it around and heading down the road that leads to the Preserve, “Did you see where it hit?”

“No, but I’m guessing following the smoke might help,” Derek commented.

“Yeah, sure, smartass, but it was deep,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“If only one of us had supernatural sense of smell,” Derek smirked.

“Alright, you win that one,” Stiles huffed and rolled down the passenger side window.

“Stop here!” Derek barked after a good ten minutes of silent driving.

“Jesus, Hale,” Stiles hit the brakes and jumped out, willing to admit Derek had startled him.

They walked back into the Preserve and up the small, steep hill, stopping in the place where they had received Boyd’s text, but neither of them commented on it. They just stood there, letting Derek focus and the scent lead them in.

Stiles checked his phone after thinking he felt it buzz in his pocket ‘found Scott, where do we go?’ Lydia’s text asked.

‘Looking for a magical tree in the preserve’ Stiles shot back, not knowing how to elaborate any more thoroughly.

‘Be right there’ Lydia answered after about two minutes of typing and deleting, re-typing and re-deleting her message. Stiles was confused, there was no way Lydia could know where to come looking for them, if they didn’t even know where to go themselves. Was she really so powerful she could locate a tree? Dead bodies must have a stronger supernatural footprint than herbs. Then again, the tree was ancient, magical and all-powerful.

“Stiles,” Derek was looking into the distance, and, if he really squinted, he could distinguish orange light coming throughout the trees. There was no doubt, Jackaline had set the trees on fire. If not for the heavy rain yesterday evening, Stiles would be very concerned about his and Derek’s safety, but he just ran towards it without thinking instead. “Stiles!” he heard Derek’s protest, but he didn’t stop. What if Jackaline was there? What if she was in danger?

“Jesus, what am I? A phone central?” Stiles asked the Universe, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket again, “What?” he asked without even looking at the caller ID.

“Stiles, are you okay?” It was his father. His father, who he’d have to explain all of this to. Explain the weather and the lightning, and now, apparently, the fire.

“Yes, of course,” he said, trying to hide the fact that he was breathless from the running, “I’m always fine, dad, when have I not been fine?”

“You’re rambling,” the Sheriff noticed, “You ramble when you lie.”

“That’s not true, I never ramble, I’m very good with words, and-“

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there,” his father said, “and I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen right now. You’ll get out of the woods and drive away, capisce?”

“What? How did you-“ he looked at his phone, dawning on a realisation, “you trackered me?”

“Of course I trackered you, your best friend is a werewolf,” the Sheriff reminded, speaking the last word in an angry whisper. “Now get out of those woods before you burn alive.”

“Yeah, sorry, dad, can’t do that,” he said and hung up, turning to see Derek watching his curiously before he handed him his phone, “Throw that away as far as you can?” Derek didn’t say anything, just kept watching Stiles, “Oh, come on, we both know you’re stronger than me, pretty please?”

Derek shook his head in disbelief and sighed before actually catapulting the phone away into the opposite direction. “Wow,” Stiles was impressed, “thanks.”

“I’m not going looking for it tomorrow,” Derek pointed his finger into Stiles’ face and walked past him and towards the fire.

“I bet I can make you change your mind,” Stiles teased silently and followed suit.

The was no doubt his father was on his way now, just as it was pretty clear the fire brigades from the nearest three towns were coming. Getting this cleared out and everyone away in a couple of minutes would be the perfect solution, but knowing Stiles’ luck, as well as their pack's, that was not happening.

Lydia, Isaac, Allison and a slightly confused Scott showed up a few minutes later, to Stiles’ surprise, having picked up Deaton on their way. The seven of them forming a very odd, supernatural version of ghost busters.

“How did you find him?” Stiles asked Lydia, watching Scott’s dubious face look around in confusion.

“Screamed,” Lydia shrugged.

“That helped?” Stiles was impressed.

“Well, his supernatural hearing made him freak out, but eventually we got him into the car.”

“I heard that scream, I just thought I’d imagined it,” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Stiles,” Lydia started as the group of them stood around without moving, “That's the tree.”

“How do you know?” Allison asked her.

“I’ve been drawing… I just do,” Lydia looked perplexed, as not knowing what to answer was a rare occurrence.

“It doesn’t matter, we have to go,” Stiles was losing his patience, so he moved towards the radiating heat and the bright orange glow deeper into the forest.

He heard footsteps behind him, those of Derek being the closest. Derek… Stiles couldn’t wait for this all to be over and to just spend time with him. Talk about whatever the hell was happening with the two of them. Or, better yet, make out and leave the talking for later. Either way, both of them were finally within reach of each other and Stiles couldn’t be more stoked.

What neither of them were ready for was the sight of a teenage girl in the middle of the fire, steadying herself on the thick stem of the strange, giant tree. She was wearing a white hospital gown and looked as if fighting for air, about to collapse, and completely and utterly exhausted, but it wasn’t from the fire. In fact, the fire didn’t appear to be harming her at all. She did, however, look like she was on the verge of losing consciousness and it was terrifying. Because, if he was completely honest with himself, Stiles had grown fond of the girl. And seeing her this weak, knowing how powerful she was, was terrifying.

“Jack?” a girl’s voice said from behind them in disbelief, “JACKALINE!” she resorted to yelling, but Stiles couldn’t make out who it was. The girl then ran past them and towards the fire, and only then did Stiles see that it was Cora.

Derek raced after her in unbelievable speed, picking her up as she kicked and screamed, and dragging her away before she had the chance to run into the open flame. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he yelled at his sister.

Isaac held Allison protectively behind him and Lydia just stood and watched the forest ablaze. Deaton mouthed something in utter shock that looked like ‘emerald dawn’ and Scott finally seemed to come back from his full moon trance.

“What do we do?” Stiles yelled to Deaton, the flames strangely loud, mixing with the wind that had picked up to hazardous speeds.

“You need to stop her!” Deaton yelled back, making Derek look at him worriedly and Cora, whose back was still pressed to her brother’s chest, - confusedly, “Otherwise she’ll set the whole town on fire!”

 _Shit,_ Stiles though, “Jackaline, it’s me,” he said quietly, hoping she’d hear him, “It’s Stiles. You’re okay, I found you, you’re safe now. Just, please, let me get to you.” The wind didn’t slow down, the fire didn’t seem to be halting, and there was no answer from the girl losing herself right in front of him.

“She draws her power from the Nemeton,” Deaton explained. Ah, so that was the name, “It looks like she can’t control it, Stiles, you need to try again.”

“I don’t think she’s conscious,” Stiles yelled, feeling it in his gut more than knowing it for a fact. He needed to do something, though. He needed to help her, to help the town. There just was nothing he could do.

Until Lydia popped into his mind and he rushed over to her, her bewildered expression framed by long, wind-swept locks, flying in every direction, “Lydia, scream,” he demanded, cupping her jaw.

“What?” She sound terrified.

“Now, really, focus and scream the fire away or something,” he instructed, not having a clue of what that meant, but he figured it might be worth a shot. And, to his surprise, Lydia nodded and steadied herself against the hot wind as Stiles stepped behind her to block himself from the sound, “Scream, baby, scream!”

It was a hauling, horrifying sound. It was beyond unimaginable. Full of pain and sorrow and pure, hot terror. It was almost tangible, as Stiles watched it blow the flames away into nothingness, knowing that if she didn’t stop soon, it would de-leaf every tree around them. It cut through the night like broken glass through skin. It was truly and inexplicably haunting.

She almost collapsed, when she did finally cease to scream, but Allison and Scott were by her side in a second. He noticed Cora watching Lydia in amazement while Derek was still covering her ears, but Stiles running past her seemed to snap her out of it and a second later both Stiles and Cora were both running to reach the Nemeton and Jackaline. She was still alive, that was a win, but she was pale and her chest rose and fell slowly as Cora held her childhood best friend in her arms.

“Get her out of here before the police arrives,” Stiles told Cora and, when they both looked over to Derek, they knew he had heard it and was coming over to take Jackaline and carry her away. Stiles assumed they would go to their old house, as it was close and at least some kind of a shelter, though, returning there would probably be far too painful for either of them.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes longer before the police showed up, Stiles’ father at the forefront, walking towards his son with the most dangerous look Stiles had ever seen on the man’s face.

“Before you yell at me, notice that we extinguished the fire, see?” Stiles said in a rush, taking steps backwards to avoid his father, and pointed towards where the large tree had only just stood, but was now left with only its roots, surrounded by a large, thick, black circle of smouldering leaves on the ground. There was no time to marvel at the disappearance of the Nemeton, or how it was left with a clean cut instead of scorch marks.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re in huge trouble,” The Sheriff warned through gritted teeth. “And what was that scream?” he demanded angrily, obviously trying, and failing, to conceal his rage.

“I don’t recall a scream,” Stiles answered stiffly before involuntarily looking over at Lydia and wincing, as his father followed his gaze to her, as well.

He saw his father jotting down ‘Lydia Martin’ on his notepad before going back to his squad to do whatever police reports they had to do after forest fires. “Doctor Deaton, a word,” he heard his father say.

Lydia seemed fine now, or at least pretending to not be magically or banshee-ically drained. At least one revelation had come out of all of this. Lydia was whatever a banshee was.

“Can you go check up on them?” Stiles asked once the five of them had reached talking distance from each other. “I don’t want Jackaline to do anything else tonight, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to leave my dad’s sight for the next ten years. They should be in the old Hale house”

“We should tell all of this to Allison’s dad,” Isaac suggested.

“Okay, we can do that now,” Allison looked worried and calm at the same time, soldiering on, no matter what.

“Scott and I can go to the Hale house,” Lydia looked almost fine already.

“Hey!” the Sheriff shouted, “No plotting! You five are in enough trouble already,” he yelled and returned to talking to Deaton who had winked at Stiles during the five seconds it had taken the Sheriff to warn them and was now positioning himself so that the Sheriff, while talking to him, would have his back turned towards the group of them.

“Okay, now, go, go, go,” Stiles whispered and kept standing there as his four friends ran in both directions from him, taking a seat on the ground to wait for his father to finish with Deaton and yell at him once they were gone.

* * *

He got quite a stern talking-to afterwards, but it was obvious his dad was tired of this all. Besides, taking Stiles to the hospital, once he’d realised his son had gotten his nose beaten into his skull, was more of a priority, plus the way to the hospital was, thankfully, not long enough for the yelling Stiles was sure his father had intended.

Melissa McCall fixed Stiles right up. It turned out it wasn’t as bad as Stiles had thought. It wasn’t even broken, theoretically, so he was surprised to discover Scott’s were-rage really hadn’t been strong enough. Either way, it hurt like a bitch, but it did get him out of immediate trouble from his dad. So you win some, you lose some.

She looked over to the out of the room to the hallway where Stiles knew his dad was standing out of earshot, waiting for him, and he knew what was coming, “So you wanna tell me how you got that punched face?” his best friend’s mom asked with a smirk on her face.

“I fell,” Stiles shrugged and looked to his right to check on his dad who was talking to someone on the walky-talky.

“Onto a fist?” Melissa smirked, “Was it Scott?” She looked as if it was no big deal. So Stiles assumed she was either certain her son would never do anything like that to Stiles, or she had gone insane.

“It was not Scott,” Stiles lied, “I promise.”

“Well alright,” she quirked an eyebrow and took her medical gloves off to toss them away before standing up and kissing Stiles’ head. “Just keep hard surfaces away from your face for a while, okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles touched his nose as carefully as he physically could, “I’ll try my best.”

“Kay, go home,” she stepped away to let Stiles get up from the bed he was sitting on.

“Thank you so much,” Stiles couldn’t resist touching his nose in different spots, but Melissa batted his hand away.

“Don’t touch it,” she warned with a pointed finger, “now go home,” she repeated and waved to the Sheriff that they were done, “good night, Stiles.”

“Bye, bye.”

His dad took him home and made him go straight to bed as he returned to the station himself. Stiles finally regretted throwing his phone away, since he couldn’t call Derek or Scott and ask what was happening. Why had he done that anyway? It was clear his dad had figured out where he was even without the phone. All he now had to defend that decision was the thought that maybe it had bought Derek, Jackaline and Cora a bit of time to get away.

About three seconds after hearing his father’s car leave the driveway to head back to work, there was a loud thump outside his window, and then scratching, before his window was pulled open carefully and the intruder landed softly on Stiles’ bedroom floor.

“So that’s how you got in here,” Stiles chuckled, putting the baseball bat he’d grabbed in panic back down on the floor.

“That bat wouldn’t have stopped me,” Derek informed, not moving a step and sitting down on the windowsill instead, “just FYI.”

“It would have, if you had been a robber,” Stiles defended his point, afraid to approach the werewolf on the other side of the room.

There was a strange sort of emptiness between them. Like a black hole had ripped open in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom, and both of them were too scared to cross it, in case they fall and burn. In case it was a mistake. It felt cold, but there was a heat pulling Stiles towards the open window opposite him. And that heat was watching Stiles like he was prey. And it felt magnificent.

“I just thought you might want to know what happened, since you lost your phone,” Derek stood up from the windowsill and Stiles took a step towards him by instinct.

“You threw it away,” stiles smiled.

“You asked me to,” Derek reminded, sitting back down and putting his hands on the back Stiles thighs to scoot him closer, making Stiles notice he’d crossed the room without quite meaning to. He had wanted to make Derek wait and suffer like Stiles had for months beforehand, but this wasn’t too bad, either.

“I did ask, yeah,” Stiles remembered absently, watching Derek’s smirk change his face differently to anything ever before. He still looked dangerous, more than ever, in fact, but he also looked kind as he watched Stiles, which made him unsure of how he felt. But then the Werewolf’s hands had moved up to Stiles’ ass and it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered, again. Apparently, Derek had that effect on Stiles now.

“Jackaline’s fine, by the way,” Derek whispered.

“Oh, good,” Stiles registered that somewhere in the back of his brain, in a box labeled ‘things to think about while Derek Hale isn’t grabbing your ass’.

“She’ll be staying with us tonight,” Derek’s eyes were on Stiles' lips as he licked his own.

“Good,” Stiles couldn’t take it anymore and leaned in until he was mere millimeters away from Derek’s lips.

But Derek pulled away, “You wanna see her?” he asked, “You know, in human form.”

“Listen, buddy,” Stiles stepped away, rubbing his eyes, “I know what you’re doing, I’m not falling for that.”

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, letting his arms fall down to his sides.

Stiles laughed, “You think you’re smart.”

“I am,” Derek shrugged and pulled Stiles back towards him by the arm, “I’m also making you crazy.”

“You flatter yourself,” Stiles snorts a laugh, complying and letting his body be dragged into Derek’s embrace.

“I can smell it,” Derek let his head fall against the window frame as he laughed. Stiles loved the way he looked so relaxed with his guard down, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Oh, what, you’re gonna lift me up and jump out the window with me on your back?” Stiles chuckled.

“No, this isn’t Twilight, Stiles,” Derek rolled his eyes and took Stiles’ hand to drag him out of his room, “We’re taking the stairs, you know, like normal people.”

“I’m actually supposed to be asleep. And I’m pretty sure I’m grounded for, well, at least until college,” Stiles objected, but didn’t even attempt to make Derek slow down. “You’ve really seen Twilight?”

“Shut up,” Derek rolled his eyes, but it was affirmation enough for Stiles to giggle as he followed Derek downstairs.

* * *

Stiles heard his name being called out as soon as he came into Derek’s loft. The voice was familiar. So familiar. He could never mistake it for anyone else anymore. Nightmares and dark nights in the woods had been soundtracked by that voice. He walked further into the apartment and found Cora and a girl their age on the couch he had slept on not that long ago, thinking about Derek. Derek who now shamelessly drove him around in his Camaro, snuck into his bedroom and grabbed his freaking ass.

The other girl got up and Stiles knew who she was. He could never see her clearly enough in his dreams, but it was her. Her light hair shimmered in the moonlight, cascading down her shoulders as she rushed towards Stiles like an old friend. And Stiles was already waiting with open arms. She had kept him and his close ones safe from her powers, Stiles knew it must have been hard as hell. And it was fine, because this was her safe haven now.

Now that voice had a face.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Jackaline,” Stiles whispered, sighing into her hair and closing his eyes in relief. He had reasons to hate her, but none of them seemed logical at the moment.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too,” she answered.

“All thanks to you,” he let his eyes open and saw Cora looking at them with a genuine smile. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Barely standing,” Cora answered for her and came over to them, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jackaline agreed and followed her best friend up the stairs.

He was wondering if she still felt the same way for Cora as she had told him. If she was still in love with her childhood best friend the same way Stiles was with Derek. And whether Cora would reciprocate if she were to ever find out. It was scary being in love with a Hale, hell, Stiles knew that better than anyone, but the excitement made it all the better.

A chin rested on his shoulder as complete silence took over the apartment. Stiles drank in the serenity of the insane night coming to an end along with the smell of Derek, barely noticing the werewolf was resting most of his upper body weight on Stiles’ shoulder. It was obvious Derek was as tired as Stiles felt.

“Feel like going to bed?” Stiles suggested and Derek chuckled knowingly directly into his ear as Stiles pretended his insides weren’t going batshit at the sound, “That’s not what I meant, asshole.”

“Asshole, huh?” Derek stepped away and smirked at Stiles as he turned to him. It was obvious what Derek meant, and just as obvious that he was joking.

“Oh, God,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Sourpuss,” Derek laughed, copying Stiles’ nickname for him. Only now did Stiles realise how annoying it was. Not that it would ever make him stop calling Derek Sourwolf, “let’s get you home before your dad finds out you’re a rebel.”

Stiles noticed Derek focusing as hard as he could on not falling asleep as he drove Stiles home, yet Stiles still watched the road attentively, ready to grab the steering wheel if necessary. Derek got them both to Stiles’ safely enough and even followed him upstairs, like a guard dog watching over his shoulder, which Stiles couldn’t help but smile at.

“Okay, you’re all set?” Derek asked, standing in Stiles’ bedroom doorway, as if afraid to come in through the door like a normal person.

“You do know I’m not letting you drive back, right?” Stiles snorted, “You barely avoided driving us off the road.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Derek laughed, taking a cautious step back.

“Cuddle me, ya big softie,” Stiles suggested, “we both know you want to,” he shrugged.

“Uh huh, sure, I’ll see you around,” Derek saluted lazily and turned to go.

“Not a chance,” Stiles insisted and dragged Derek over to his bed, which he knew he’d never be able to do unless Derek wanted him to. “Just sleep, you stubborn prick.”

“Jesus Christ, Stilinski,” Derek rolled his eyes and let himself be pushed into the teenager’s bed.

“I’ll just brush my teeth, but I fully expect you to still be here when I get back,” Stiles pointed his finger warningly.

“Sure boss,” he heard as he left his bedroom. Derek already sounded sleepy and done with the night, and, honestly, Stiles felt the exact same. There was absolutely nothing he wanted now but to get back to his bed and to Derek. And for now, not having his phone was a blessing.

Derek already looked close to asleep, when Stiles returned to his room, hogging most of the blanket and two pillows. Stiles just huffed a tired laugh and changed into sweatpants quickly before lying next to Derek and getting enveloped into his arms as if by instinct.

“Night,” Stiles sighed and heard the quietest of hums directly in his ear in response as Derek lazily shared some of the blanket with Stiles and left a sleepy peck on the back of his neck.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, as well. Sure, the idea of Derek _fucking_ Hale cuddling him to sleep seemed impossible and made his heart race, but there was something about his breathing and his arms holding him that just made Stiles involuntarily relaxed. And for the first time in almost a month, he didn’t dream about a girl in the woods – Beacon Hills’ doom.


	2. The Fox + The Wolf

Dark. Everything was dark. Except, it wasn’t. There was, in fact, light, but it was somewhere far. And it was streaming into Stiles’ eyes in thick, pale lumps. Like a drunk moon. It must have been the moon, it was too dark to be daytime, and Stiles could see out the small gaps of whatever he was standing in front of. Or in. He couldn’t step back, there was nowhere to go. He was trapped. He was locked.

He smashed his hand against the door. He knew it was a gym locker, he’d been locked inside one before, as a joke, in middle school. He hadn’t had a good time then and he wasn’t now, either. The metal walls were caving in, he was alone, and he could sense that screaming for help would be pointless, just like it had been those years ago when one of Jackson’s little flying monkeys had thought it funny to leave him inside for two periods.

The panic rose with every hit to the door that resulted in nothing but a loud, screeching bang, echoing somewhere in the halls. His breathing was increasing, but he pushed the panic attack back for another hit, just one, two, three more and he was out, almost tripping over his own feet.

He didn’t know why he was at school in the middle of the night, still wearing his pyjamas. All reasoning was pushed into the back of his mind. He didn’t care, for some reason, he was just curious. He didn’t look quite right in the mirror he passed on his way out the boys’ locker room, but he didn’t care again, just walked further into the hallway, finding a classroom door left open, the burnt Nemeton in the middle, desks and chairs scattered all around it, as if it had just popped into existence in Beacon Hills High, disrupting everything in its way.

Stiles just wanted to touch it. It was calling out to him, beckoning to come closer, just a touch, just a scrape of the bark. He wanted to touch the sizzling, crisp roots more than anything in the world and the moment before he could, it set ablaze and along with itself also Stiles’ arm.

He startled awake, sitting up and breathing heavily. Stiles was back in his bed. Safe, in his bedroom where nothing could get to him as long as he had his eyes open. “You okay?” a sweet, tired voice asked as the weight shifted on his mattress and hands wrapped around his right shoulder in a calming manor. “Stiles?” Lydia asked to get his attention again.

“Yeah, I was just dreaming,” he wanted to dismiss her and tell her to go back to sleep, but she just looked so worried and he appreciated that so much, “It was weird,” he said instead of lying to her and saying he’s fine, “it was like a dream inside a dream.”

“A nightmare?” her big concerned eyes glowed in the moonlight and Stiles nodded, rubbing her hand, which was still resting on his knee, to assure her he’s fine. Lydia continued drawing calming circles on his shoulder, waiting for his heart rate to stabilise. He looked up to meet her gaze and she smiled a forced smile as if to tell him she knew he wasn’t alright.

“Wait a sec, Lydia,” his words came out in a strained whisper, not wanting to disturb the cricket-and-wind-filled midnight silence, “what are you doing here?” he asked, his brain having rebooted and the gears restarted to work again, clearing the remnants of the dream fogging his mind.

She didn’t get to answer as the door creaked open, but as soon as Stiles tried to move forward or get up to get closer to it, Lydia’s hands wrapped around his arm and held him in place, begging him to forget it and just go to sleep. But he couldn’t go to sleep. He was already sleeping. Hours upon hours of Wikipedia research on a paper about sleep paralysis he’d written last year were reason enough for him to deduce that he was, in fact, lucid dreaming and unable to wake up.

He rose to his feet, managing to free himself of her grasp, and moved to close the door over Lydia’s protests. _What if they get in? What if they get in? What if they get in? What if they get in?_

He wondered, _what if who gets in?_

Ignoring Lydia’s pleading he opened the door and walked through.

And her voice disappeared. The night was cold, the breeze raising goose bumps on his arms, his naked feet crunched against the dried leaves that always covered the Preserve’s ground. It was in front of him, yet again, the Nemeton in all its burned glory, smoke rising from it in thin, ghost-like streams, as if taking its last breaths, as if blaming Stiles for its death.

He watched the wind take the smoke where it pleased, making it dance around and return to the sky, looping around the stem before coming over to Stiles and wrapping him up in a blanket of unbreathable dry cloud. It grew around him, enveloping him completely, blocking his nose and mouth, and making him cough and spasm, his lungs begging for cleaner air and the Nemeton denying it as bright light shined all around him and he lost consciousness, only gaining it again back in his bed.

Derek was gone, just as Stiles had suspected he would be, probably because his dad was back home, he got dressed in a weird state of vertigo and headed to school to tell Scott.

“And you couldn’t wake up?” his best friend asked, barely keeping up with Stiles’ stressed legs carrying him down a set of stairs.

“Nope,” he sighed, “it was beyond terrifying. Ever heard of sleep paralysis?”

“Uh, no, do I want to?” Scott scoffed and Stiles went on to explain that during REM a person’s body is basically paralysed so they wouldn’t start running if dreaming of such a thing. And sometimes they would wake up before their body has. And it feels like a living nightmare.

“It can feel like you’re falling, or being strangled, or, in my case, you’re in the center of a grove where a magical tree lives that a witch girl takes her powers from.”

“You think it means something?” Scott asked, sounding concerned.

“What if whatever Jackaline did to me, wh– what if it’s still affecting me?”

“Like post-traumatic stress?” Scott raised his eyebrows and Stiles noticed how he’d known the tern without his having had to explain it beforehand. Scott had been doing some reading.

“Yeah, or something,” Stiles shrugged and walked into a classroom to take his seat, trying not to notice the weird glare Jennifer Blake was giving him. “Wanna know what scares me the most?” he offered and Scott turned back to him, all interest pooled into his eyes and devoted only to Stiles, “I’m not even sure this is real.”

He woke up. Again. In his bed. Again. Only this time he was screaming as if something was attacking him or he was in pain. Fear grazed at his flesh and dug into his bones. Confusion and despair clouded his mind before he could hear the silent “You’re okay,” being repeated into his ear and big arms holding his body down so he couldn’t fight back.

The screams turned into hard breaths as he managed to avoid sobbing uncontrollably. “You’re okay, Stiles,” the owner of the muscled grip reminded as he took in his surroundings. It was still dark, he must not have been asleep for too long, his room seemed quiet and serene after the bloody murder he’d screamed and he buried his sweat-damp forehead into the arm that smelled like Derek.

He stayed there a while, bathing in the warmth of the blanket, that he’d kicked off and that was now only covering one of his legs, Derek’s arms and the hot breath that was moving the chest against his back in even motions, calming him and bringing him back down to earth.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly and felt Derek twitch, Stiles wouldn’t blame him for starting to fall back asleep. He’d want nothing more but a few calm hours of unconscious, dreamless bliss himself.

“Don’t be. What happened?” Derek whispered into his hair.

Stiles sighed, “I don’t know,” he admitted, wishing this wasn’t another dream. He was sure he couldn’t take it and, besides, this was far too good and it being unreal would not be fair.

“Okay,” Derek’s jaw moved against the crook of Stiles’ neck, “come here,” he pulled him down towards the mattress and Stiles obliged, taking a deep breath to steady his heartbeat, one that didn’t help much and he knew Derek could hear that.

“Is this a dream?” Stiles asked, his words barely audible, muffled by Derek’s shirt.

“I goddamn hope not,” Derek whispered airily, exhaustion seeping through like thick, heavy molasses.

Stiles hummed in response, trying not to think of what the dreams meant or whether Jackaline was to blame. He focused on his breathing. And when he found his own breaths sporadic and distressed, he focused on Derek’s steady ones and the fingers that traced his spine like Stiles was a cat being mindlessly stroked back to sleep.

He was awakened by his father telling him to get his butt to school through the door. In the confusion and drowsiness from his slumber – that had, thankfully, been calmer and less nightmare-filled after the whole falling asleep in Derek’s arms, take 2, thing – he forgot about the man lying next to him and grunted sleepily, which his father, as usual, took as an invitation to barge in and make sure Stiles gets up in time for school.

The absolute state of utter horror and petrification only settled into his fuzzy brain when his father stopped in his tracks after repeating his demand in the doorway. Stiles was facing the door, his face mushed into the mattress, he felt his eyes growing larger as he prayed and begged for some sort of a miracle to have taken place. But all he could do was stare at his father who had an unreadable expression on his face.

Now, catching your teenage son in bed with a grown-ass man wouldn’t be any father’s cup of tea, but when you’re a sheriff of a town that seems to be a literal supernatural beacon and your son appears to be dating an actual werewolf, well, that might pull an especially worrisome string in a man’s heart.

What Stiles hadn’t taken into account was that Sheriff Stilinski was still royally pissed at him for the bullshit he’d pulled the night before with all his supernatural friends. And that it wasn’t Derek sleeping next to Stiles that irked him. It was Stiles still disobeying his father.

Another thing he hadn’t considered was Derek’s super-hearing that probably told him the Sheriff was coming from a mile away, since, apparently, he’d snuck out the window before Stiles even had the chance to see him in the daylight.

“Yeah, I’m up,” Stiles tried to calm his heartbeat after jumping up in bed in an ill-fated attempt to hide Derek. At that, the Sheriff sighed and his face softened, “sorry,” Stiles threw in for good measure, rubbing his eyes.

“Just don’t be late, buddy.”

“Yes sir,” Stiles saluted and let out a thankful breath as soon as his dad was out of earshot, letting himself fall back into his bed and catch his breath. “Fucker,” he scolded Derek in the off chance he was still sitting on the roof outside his window.

* * *

He couldn’t read. Stiles couldn’t read. It started with his history textbook, whose title looked like “DALESI XIS ANLA” when he put it into his backpack, and it didn’t stop when he got to school and was unable to read what he was sure was the most simple of sentences. He was terrified of still being asleep. Of being trapped in an endless circle of realistic dreams that would never set him free, and constantly make him wonder if he’s finally awake or not. He was crammed with useless information, so he knew illiteracy is one of the signs that you’re dreaming. But he didn’t want to be dreaming. He didn’t want to have no control over his own mind.

Scott and Lydia looked skeptical when Stiles told them about last night. Well, he might have left out some parts, like Lydia in his bed in one of the dreams, or, you know, Derek, but the nightmares he mostly retold in perfect detail.

“Do you think you’re still dreaming?” Scott sounded concerned, “That would be so weird,” he added under his breath and tried to hide the little pinch he gave himself.

“Are you trying to wake yourself up from _my_ dream?” Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not dreaming. I’d know if I wasn’t real,” Lydia said surely and rolled her eyes when the two boys looked at her with distrust, “You know what I mean,” she scoffed and moved to her locker, Stiles and Scott trailing behind her like lost puppies, “Besides, aren’t the nightmares supposed to be over now that the witch is back to being somewhat sane?”

“She’s not a witch,” Stiles corrected her, but was left speechless when Lydia asked what she was then.

He wanted to slap himself awake as Lydia mused over no longer being _the crazy one_.

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles rolled his eyes, taking out a book from his locker with shaky fingers, begging he could read the title. He could. God bless American Literature History Vol.2, “See? I can read what it says here.” Though the strange symbols on his lock did still suggest a glitch in his brain.

“Good boy, want me to reward you with a cookie?” Lydia smirked, making him scoff in return as Allison joined the group.

“Stiles, you’re probably just nervous about pissing your dad off. Or Jackaline’s safety, and that’s fine, you just need to remember you’re okay,” Scott smiled sweetly.

“What are you? A motivational speaker?” Isaac grinned, having showed up from nowhere.

“Where did you come from?” Allison asked with a big goofy smile on her face and hugged him.

“Derek’s Camaro,” Isaac’s eyes shifted to Stiles, “He drove me to school.”

Stiles tried to act like that wasn’t valuable information to him and he wasn’t now expecting Derek to turn a corner and smile that unfairly triggering smile at him. He was also trying to pretend Isaac’s apparent knowledge of the situation wasn’t disturbing him.

“Okay, whatever, yeah, I’m sure I’m fine,” Stiles rubbed his hands together as the warning bell announced first period, “and, Lydia, stop enjoying this so much,” he added, but the strawberry blonde’s smirk never faltered.

“Maybe you just need to take it easy until things get back to normal,” Scott suggested as the two of them peeled off the rest of the group for their English class.

“Yeah, try not to forget – there was a druid girl living in my head, controlling the weather, setting ancient magical trees on fire and killing people. There’s a pretty good chance things are never getting back to normal.”

“Telepathy must have some side effects, right?”

“Let’s just hope they disappear soon. Or, at least, that Jack knows how to reverse them,” he whispered, taking his seat. Much like that of Isaac’s, Jennifer Blake’s look at Stiles seemed just as knowing. Only Isaac had a certain mock to it, Miss Blake looked plain evil. Or angry. Like she was mad specifically at Stiles. Maybe she was. On the off chance that she knew, she _did_ have a reason.

“Class, we have a new student joining us today,” her tone sounded syrup sweet and not at all like what her expression might suggest. Her teeth were gritted, though, like she was trying to keep it together for as long as possible. “Her name is Cora Hale. Let’s welcome her with open arms, shall we?”

Before everyone could finish gushing over _another Hale? I thought the rest of them died,_ Jennifer Blake started the lesson, demanding all the attention back on her. The only two heads not to turn back to the front of the class were Stiles and Scott who stared at each other in shock. Stiles was sure Derek would have taken her back to wherever Boyd had pulled her out from, but, instead, he put her in Beacon Hills High for everyone to gawk at her like a circus animal.

“Fuck off, dinguses,” she whispered to them and they both snapped back to reality and tried to pay attention to the lesson.

Did Cora still being here mean Jackaline staying as well? Did Cora in high school mean Jackaline in high school? With them? Every day? Possibly brainwashing anyone in her way? Stiles wanted to trust her, he really did, and he found himself caring a great deal about the girl, but there was just something nagging at his instincts.

What fucked Stiles up more was that everything Miss Blake had written on the chalkboard, Stiles couldn’t, for the life of him, read. Not a single word.

Ignoring it for the rest of the day, he tried to focus on Cora and, by extension, Jackaline coming back to the town. As far as he could tell, Cora didn’t have many people waiting to throw her a welcome back parade, but she also didn’t seem in terrible need of any company. She was a loner. She had headphones and a book at lunch to fixate on. She either didn’t care about others or she was pointedly ignoring the staring, whispering and sometimes even pointing.

“She doesn’t look like she needs friends,” Lydia pointed out when Scott suggested they join her table.

“Everyone needs friends, Lydia,” Scott continued in his commercial spokesperson tone.

“Just oblige,” Allison laughed, “the first day can be tough. I had you to take care of me. She has no one.”

They all looked at Lydia and waited for her to agree, which she did with an exasperated sigh and a dramatic eye roll, “Fine, I’ll be the angel. But for the record, I don’t think we need any more supernatural friends.”

“She’s Derek’s sister, she’s automatically a part of whatever this is,” Stiles stated and was thankful when no one questioned that statement. Except Isaac who was more laughing than questioning. Stiles hated that Isaac seemed to know…something. Or maybe he didn’t and he was just being paranoid. “What’s your problem?” Stiles asked nonetheless as the rest of the pack had started towards Cora.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isaac’s grin grew.

“What do you know?” Stiles was getting more impatient now. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Just that Derek wasn’t home all night and his car smelled like you this morning. So nothing much, I suppose,” he shrugged and followed the rest of the gang with a smirk. “Oh,” Isaac turned back with a little laugh before he was too far away, “and arousal,” he added and continued before Stiles had the chance to question what the hell that meant, “the car smelled like you and arousal.”

_Shit._

Cora didn’t seem as annoyed as she did in class this morning. She didn’t look like she wanted them to leave. If anything, she looked thankful someone had actually wanted to talk _to_ her instead of _about_ her. “Ah,” she exclaimed, seeing Stiles and Isaac join the table, “Stiles,” her smile wasn’t unlike that of Isaac’s and Stiles just knew she had to know, as well. And he hated it.

“Cora,” he tried to look nonchalant.

“How did you sleep, Stiles?” she asked, winking at Isaac who laughed along. The reactions they got would’ve been priceless if Stiles wasn’t so overcome with terror. Scott just looked plain confused, Lydia had a tinge of jealousy in her eyes that Stiles found satisfying, if a little late, and Allison started holes into Cora for the wink she’d just dedicated to Isaac.

“Why?” Scott asked and Cora had already opened her mouth to answer, but Stiles interrupted her.

“Barely, actually,” he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, waiting for the satisfied smiles to appear on both Cora and Isaac’s faces, “I had like half a dozen nightmares in a row thanks to your little girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Cora looked slightly more pissed now.

“Whatever, just tell her to get out of my head.”

“She’s not in your head anymore,” Cora quirked an eyebrow, “You’re her friend, she doesn’t want to hurt you, so control your PTSD. Why? Afraid of what she’ll find there?” Cora’s smirk was back.

“She already found it,” Stiles smirked back, “and told me some stuff, as well,” he hadn’t noticed leaning into the table so far, but he felt slightly superior to Cora when her face fell yet again.

“What’s going on?” Lydia whispered dramatically as if making fun of them.

“Nothing, red, leave it alone,” Cora leaned against the wall, “You’re good,” she almost sounded like she admired him.

“Learned from your brother,” Stiles took a bite off his apple.

“Yeah, you did,” Isaac snickered, but Allison kicked him under the table and told him to stop tormenting Stiles. Which begged the question – did she know, as well?

“Shut up,” Allison whispered with an amused tone to her voice. Stiles hated it. He didn’t like people knowing when he didn’t even know what it was between the two of them. He was starting to think Derek had changed his mind. There’s a reason people run away when the morning comes. The walk of shame isn’t named that just because. Maybe Derek had been acting on short-term insanity the night before. After all, it wasn’t Derek that made the first move, he'd just gone along with it.

“Right, I’m gonna go learn how to read again,” Stiles stood up and started moving away, ignoring everyone’s amused apologies and pleads for him to stay, with a middle finger raised in the air that earned a stern “STILINSKI! WATCH YOUR PROFANITIES!” from the coach.

He got through the rest of the day scot-free, without much teasing from his friends and headed straight to the Sheriff’s department after school, trying his best not to think about the fact that he thought he saw Derek’s Camaro speeding off after picking Cora up from school.

The sight in his father’s office wasn’t one for sore eyes. There were case files scattered all over the floor, forming what seemed to be messy piles. He picked up one that his dad hadn’t assigned to a pile yet and read aloud “Strange sighting of bi-pedal lizard man sprinting across freeway.”

“Kanima pile,” the Sheriff announced and took the case file from his son’s hands to throw into one of the disorganised stack.

“Dad,” Stiles started carefully, “what is all this?”

“I’ve been looking over some old cases from a more illuminated viewpoint. The recent opening of my eyes to the greater mysteries of the universe has got me,” he though it over for a second, “re-assessing. There are at least a hundred cases here where I can look at the details and ask myself: if I knew then what I know now…”

“Right, but are you sure you wanna go down that road?” Stiles was concerned now. His father had been stressed about one unsolvable case after another coming his way. And now he knew that wasn’t his fault and, even though he, hopefully, understood that he can never give out this information, he would feel better to know the explanation.

“I’m not sure I have a choice, kiddo,” he ruffled Stiles’ hair lovingly and turned back to examine the next file on his desk, “I’ll be right out,” he promised. They’d made plans to visit Stiles’ mother’s grave and Stiles had bought a bouquet of flowers on his way over here with some money his dad had left him a week ago.

“Sure,” Stiles agreed and left his dad’s office to see if anyone in the bullpen was taking a break and was up for a coffee and some small talk. He smiled, noticing Parrish, seeing the youngest deputy in the department making what appeared to be an extra sweet chocolate macchiato, and headed over to him.

The deputy didn’t seem all too disrupted by Stiles striking up a conversation with him, so he didn’t feel like leaving. Parrish was great to talk to, the obligatory ‘ _how are you’_ and ‘ _how’s school’_ at least sounded like he meant them and Stiles didn’t feel pressured to answer. Even when he noticed the flowers and asked if they’re heading over to visit Claudia, the tone of his voice was so understanding Stiles didn’t even feel like flinching away from the subject like he normally would. Parrish was a good guy – a decent guy. Stiles appreciated that. He still remembered the crush he had on him when the guy first came to town.

“Kiddo, let’s roll,” his father announced, walking over to the two of them, still putting his jacket on.

Stiles never liked visiting his mother’s grave. It never seemed like a bad idea per se, because he did love his mother and he missed her like hell, but every time they did this, the moment they got to the graveyard there was a lump in his throat and his vision went blurry with tears, something rang in his ears and his legs felt unsteady. All he could think about was this not being fair. Her being gone was simply unfair. He didn’t like being here, but he knew coming here was important, and he felt better every time they left, even though he wouldn’t be much of a talker the rest of the night.

So when his phone rang that night, he didn’t want to answer. That is, until he saw who was calling. The words _Derek Hale_ seemed too formal, but he had no reason to change the name of the contact yet. Besides, Derek would probably object to him changing it to _Honeybun_ or _Sweetie pie_. “Derek?” he hoped his voice didn’t give away the excitement he felt. He also hoped werewolves didn’t hear heart rates through phones.

“Stiles,” he answered in a low and almost too quiet tone. He sounded like he was alone and at liberty to say whatever he wanted, however he wanted.

“What’s up?” Stiles wasn’t sure if his attempts at mimicking the sultry voice succeeded, but Derek’s low chuckle sure didn’t seem like he’d hated it.

“Not much, just wondered how your day was.”

Stiles couldn’t believe his ears. Was this how it was going to be? Caring Derek, worried phone calls and making sure they each got home safe? Or, rather, didn’t get home and stayed over for safety purposes. “You did?”

“Well, you did wake up screaming your head off, so yeah,” Derek sounded far more casual than Stiles felt. But it didn’t matter. Of course he would, he’s all dark, broody and handsome, Stiles just wanted to see him again.

“Right, yeah,” Stiles sighed, “I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’d love to believe you but that’s also what drug addicts say.”

He sat down on his bed and noticed how if he focused enough, he could still smell Derek on his sheets. He felt daring all of a sudden and didn’t think much before, “You can come and check on me, if you want to.”

“Nice try, I know the Sheriff’s home.”

Stiles chuckled and got out of his bed to open the door and listen for a second. Everything was quiet except for a clock ticking somewhere, “He’s also asleep.”

“You sure you wanna take that chance? The man has a gun.”

“Are you saying you’re afraid of my father?” he challenged.

* * *

“You’re a dick,” Derek stated in a whisper, having jumped through the window about an hour later, landing without a sound, taking his shoes and jacket off and getting under Stiles’ blanket. Stiles was already half asleep, sure that Derek wouldn’t come. Yet here he was.

“Your feet are cold,” Stiles noted sleepily.

“Give it a second,” Derek whispered right next to Stiles’ ear, making him shiver, “Just don’t go screaming like a maniac again, I’m pretty sure your dad will be faster at getting here than me at getting out.”

“I’ll try, now shut up and cuddle me.”

Derek’s laugh was the last thing he registered before waking up, startled by the alarm. He heard a faint “School, Stiles,” from his father behind the closed door and turned around to see what he had already expected – no Derek.

He’d had another nightmare, this time about no one being able to speak to him, only signing something with their hands. Only everyone was doing the same thing, looking like mute zombies – all of his classmates and even Coach.

He sat up and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes to get the sleep out and noticed blue marking on his palms and a dark stain on his floor, next to a broken pen. Only it wasn’t just a broken pen, it was him having broken the pen, by seemingly trying to tattoo the words _wake up_ on his arms over and over again.

“Shit.”

* * *

“Right, so what do we do?” Scott asked as they were all seated around a table at lunch. Stiles had doubted telling his best friend about his nightmare, but he knew Scott would try to help and the rest of them didn’t seem eager to tease him anymore, so it wasn’t too bad.

“Put him in a ward?” Isaac suggested.

“Alright, how about you be helpful for once?” Stiles suggested.

“Well, I was locked in a freezer half of my childhood, so being friendly is kinda new to me.”

“Seriously? You still milking that?”

“Yeah, I am still-“

“Hi,” a voice cut through their conversation-turned-argument and their whole table turned to face its source.

“Jack!” Cora said and got up to hug her best friend. Stiles couldn’t believe she was here, he assumed she’d be in hiding. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?” Stiles and Lydia asked at once.

Jack smiled at Stiles and sat down next to him, “My dad.”

“What? Your dad? Why?” Stiles suddenly felt worried and protective. This was the man who had abused Jackaline after her mother died and locked her up just so he wouldn’t have to deal with her and her powers. For all he cared, he was a monster that had no right to call himself Jackaline’s father.

“Not too great, but he did agree to not make me live in a madhouse. Although I think he was just scared of Derek, so God knows what’s gonna happen next.”

“Derek?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, he took me to the mayor’s office this morning and it only took a couple of phone calls for my dad to get me into Beacon Hills High straight away,” she sighed and took a sip of Cora’s drink, “perks of being a mayor, I guess, so here I am.”

“I thought she’d be staying with you guys,” Stiles turned to Cora and Isaac.

“Turns out harbouring an underage psychiatric institute escapee isn’t exactly legal,” Jackaline sighed, “Who knew?”

Stiles smiled as sympathetically as he could and rubbed her shoulder. None of this was fair on her. She’d gone through enough in her life as is, now being thrown around from one house to another only to end up back with her abusive father was just another blow, and Stiles wasn’t sure how many more she could take before exploding. Again.

“How is he?” Scott asked carefully, “Your dad.”

“Oh, you know, just your standard terrified-of-anything-supernatural guy,” Jack shrugged, “plus the douchebag part.”

Scott smiled sadly, looking sorry for her, but not quite pitying, more just sad he couldn’t do anything to help.

“Doesn’t matter. As long as he knows I’m able to hurt him, he won’t do anything against me,” she tried to sound nonchalant, but her smile fell too quickly and she failed to hide the sigh that followed, but no one pressed further.

“Oh, speaking of being afraid of you,” Lydia pulled her best bitch face, “why is Stiles still tormented by weird dreams? Aren’t you supposed to be out of his head?”

Cora didn’t like her tone one bit, she was seconds away from wolfing out, by the looks of it, and attacking the redhead.

“What?” Jackaline looked worried and didn’t seem to mind the accusation one bit, “I am, I mean whatever my subconscious was doing to you, it should have stopped by now, I’m back in charge…”

“Well, fix it before he goes insane,” Lydia not-so-gently suggested.

“Hey, red, cool it,” Cora warned, “or I will make you.”

“Oh, please, I dated a Kanima, you things don’t scare me,” Lydia’s eye roll was dramatic of epic proportions.

“Of course not, you’re a Banshee,” Jack smiled genuinely, “you’ll scream her away before she has the chance to attack you.”

“Thank you,” Lydia’s nose was back high in air, “now if you’ll excuse us,” she cleared her throat and stood up, taking Allison with her.

* * *

“Are they sleeping together?” Cora‘s whispered voice leaned into Stiles’ ear in the middle of biology.

“Who?” Stiles asked, trying to pretend like she hadn’t just startled the shit out of him.

“Red and the hunter chick.”

“What? No,” he laughed, “why?” Stiles barely managed to finish when the teacher was already scolding the two of them for talking during class.

“Because,” Cora ignored the teacher completely, “she’s fucking frustrated, someone needs to fix that.”

“Go for it,” Stiles snorted, surprised at how easily it was for him to let go of Lydia – the love of his life, or at least what he thought was the love of his life for years – now that he had someone else to focus all his jealousy on, “good luck, though, I’m pretty sure she’s as straight as they come.”

“I’m sure everyone thinks the same thing about you,” there was a knowing smile on her face when he turned to face her and she winked just before the teacher repeated his demand for silence and turned back to the blackboard.

“What are you talking about?”

“Stiles, you reek of my brother,” the annoyance was audible without even having to turn to look her in the eye.

“Cora, I-“

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised, “if you swear your intentions are good.”

Stiles was taken aback, he had no idea she cared so much about Derek. Sure, the man had had his fair share of painfully bad taste in former paramours, but he was also a notoriously mean, cranky asshole that not many people cared about.

“I’m just fucking with you, I don’t give a shit, I just like to be in the loop. You’re a scrawny little prick, I know you can’t do anything to him.”

Stiles sighed, realising he should’ve seen that coming, “Good to know.”

“But, to be clear, if _you_ end up breaking _his_ heart, I’ll rip yours right out your chest, okay?” she smiled sweetly before leaving him alone until the end of the period, and he didn’t wait to find out if she wanted to make any additional threats, so he made a break for the exit before anyone else had the chance to, heading straight for the parking lot, running into Jackaline on his way. Literally. Dude had no coordination whatsoever.

“Oh! Hey. How-how was your first day?” he asked, unsure of how to talk to her now when they were alone for the first time face-to-face.

“Yeah, it was…”she took a second to ponder it over, “strange. Really weird.”

“Sounds about right,” he smiled, “high school’s a bitch, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“It’s not really that, it’s more the ‘everyone knowing who I am and thinking I’m insane’ part that bums me out,” she laughed weakly. She should get used to it soon, or maybe everyone else will just mind their own business in a while, but right now? Right now it must suck like hell, “I just don’t wanna go back home and face him, you know,” she pressed her lips together.

“Want a ride?” Stiles offered as they’d reached the parking lot.

“Probably not, walking home means I get there later.”

“Makes sense, avoiding things is usually how I deal with them, too.”

Jackaline laughed and looked into the direction she’d be walking in once this conversation ended and the desire to prolong it was almost touchable, “Hey, Stiles?” she waited until he reacted with a hum, “I’m sorry you’re still suffering. You were supposed to be the only one who doesn’t.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with you,” he stated. He didn’t believe that at all, “I’m sure it’s just PTSD,” he lied.

“Right,” she didn’t look convinced by that, “have a good night, Stiles. Say hi to Derek from me.”

“What?” his head snapped up from his Converse to find Jackaline smirking at him, “Cora?”

“Texted me right after she asked you just now,” Jack confirmed his suspicion, “I’m sure she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone, but she tells me everything. I swear this doesn’t leave the three of us.”

“Three can’t keep a secret if two of them are dead,” Stiles yelled after Jack when she’d walked away from him with a laugh. “Damn it.”

He didn’t need people knowing. Not that he was ashamed or anything. God, no. The exact opposite. He’d be shouting that he’d managed to bag Derek Hale from the rooftops, if he could. And he could, he just wanted it to be theirs until they decide what it was. Isaac’s tormenting had already been too much, a druid and another Hale on his neck wasn’t something he needed, but, oh boy, what a trio those three made.

He wasn’t even sure how the dynamics worked between Cora and Jackaline, he assumed every demon needed an angel to bring them back down to earth, and it wasn’t like Jackaline obviously didn’t have her dark side, but they were just so different. Then again, him and Derek had nothing in common other than a knowledge that werewolves existed, and it’s seemed to be working just fine for the last two days.

* * *

Days passed and Stiles was starting to think everything was getting better. The nightmares started to pass, if not in volume, then at least in intensity, then again, maybe it was Derek sneaking in every night as soon as Stiles was on the verge of falling asleep. Clever, really, Derek got to watch over Stiles and Stiles got to sleep in safety without either of them talking each other into what was going to be quite an illegal endeavour if they ever actually got to it.

Stiles liked what was becoming of their relationship. Sure, he wished they talked more during the day, and he missed kissing Derek, which he didn’t get to do, since the douche showed up when Stiles was too tired to start anything and was gone by the time he woke up, but knowing what socially incompetent dumbasses they both were, slow was probably the way to go.

It was a Saturday when Stiles woke in a startle from a dream he couldn’t remember. What he did know was that it hadn’t been a good dream. The night before had been calm, Derek had even waited for him to wake up before smirking and jumping out his window. He’d hoped it was over, but they were back. The nightmares didn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon.

He went downstairs to get coffee, hoping his dad had made enough for the two of them, the aroma of the bitter, hot liquid and something oily and definitely not meant for his father’s heart frying, making him very aware he’d skipped dinner the previous night.

He was excited to ignore the nightmares and pretend everything’s fine. Except for one thing – his father was supposed to have a morning shift. And it was nearly midday.

Now his father taking advantage of being the boss and not paying much attention to his schedule wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, in fact, the man had no respect for time tables. What _was_ unusual, though, was a shirtless werewolf in his kitchen, moving around like cooking was his second nature instead of becoming a furry, toothy nightmare fuel.

Stiles was taken aback. No, even _shocked_ would be an understatement. Derek was here. It was morning and Derek was still _here_. Sunlight playing on tan skin and back muscles, pillow-messed hair pointing in all directions, Stiles’ way-too-small-for-Derek sweatpants framing a perfectly round-

“Staring is rude,” someone reminded Stiles, snapping him out of it. He wasn’t sure who was talking, he wasn’t really paying attention, or maybe he was a bit out of it, and when Derek turned around to flash a teasing little smirk, Stiles felt for a second like standing was the hardest thing for a human to endure.

“I, uh…” he needed to get it together. Derek might be cooking him breakfast, but he knew there would be definite teasing, if he didn’t use his words sometime in the next two seconds, “didn’t realise we were talking.”

“Don’t be a baby, I’ve been talking to you every day,” Derek’s voice gave away the smile he was definitely sporting, even though Stiles couldn’t see it from behind him.

“Yeah, on the phone, in updates,” he snorted, taking a step and going for the table. _That’s it, just act like everything’s fine and there isn’t a fucking Greek god standing in your kitchen in all his glory_.

“So?” Derek piled bacon onto a plate next to some scrambled eggs and put it on the table in front of Stiles, “Possessive, are we?”

“Can you blame me?” Stiles smiled down at his plate while Derek filled his own plate and poured them both coffee.

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?” Derek’s smile was so honest and warm. Not like the one he’d given Tara working the front desk in the sheriff’s station when they needed to distract her, not like the mean ones he would shamelessly flash when he did something painful or said something pungent to Stiles. No, this one gave him laughter lines and little crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“Didn’t even have to beg,” Stiles pretended to be impressed.

“Oh, we’ll get to that,” the werewolf assured, enjoying the little cough into the coffee mug Stiles’ brain involuntarily made him do and sitting back in a chair next to him at the table.

“Funny,” Stiles lifted an eyebrow.

“I’d say I am,” Derek jabbed his fork into a piece of bacon and folded it in half, pausing before his put it in his mouth, “at least sometimes.”

“Sometimes being the keyword,” Stiles dragged, trying his best not to smile at how simple, comfortable, domestic and painless the teasing could be.

He was almost afraid to look at Derek, but it was kind of difficult when he had the devil himself sitting next to him, hot as all hell, knowing just how insane he was making him. He also had trouble looking away, because God, oh God there was musk just radiating and handsome leaking from the man.

“Still rude,” Derek reminded, and maybe it was Stiles’ imagination, but his voice didn’t sound a hundred percent steady.

“Well, you’re making it pretty difficult, asshole,” he heard annoyance in his own voice and that little laugh of Derek’s that landed on his face in a hot breath. Were they leaning into each other?

“Eat, Stiles,” Derek demanded with another laugh and started poking at an especially non-compliant piece of bacon. Stiles cleared his throat, hoping it could help clear his brain, but now his obsessed _Derek’s hot, Derek’s hot, Derek’s hot_ was turning into a paranoid _Derek doesn’t fucking need me anymore._

“Yes, sir,” he tried to keep it breezy, hoping his disappointment wasn’t showing. He wouldn’t be able to bear it falling apart. He knew it was petty and immature to just assume it was going to be a fairytale ending, but as stupid as it was, he just didn’t want it to go back. He liked their new dynamic, besides he was way too deep to pretend like the old ignorant, sarcastic, bitchy, mean duo they were just a week prior.

“What?” Derek asked without even having to look at stiles. Right. Werewolves can probably smell disappointment, sure, why the hell not give Stiles something else to worry about.

“Nothing,” Stiles lied.

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe your supernatural heart beat detector is broken.”

“You mean my ears? The ones that can hear the clock on the bedside stand in your room right now?”

“Can you really hear it? That’s so cool,” Stiles hoped he could change the subject, if he talked fast enough, “doesn’t it get annoying?”

“Stiles.”

“Can you tune it out?”

“Stiles!”

“Fine,” Stiles sighed, dropping his fork next to his plate, “it’s fine, it’s really nothing.”

“Okay, you realise you’re still lying, right?” Derek narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe I don’t realise I’m lying. Maybe it’s so deep into my subconscious that I think everything’s actually fine and I don’t even realise it’s not.”

“You’re rambling,” Derek smirked, “and that would still make it a lie.”

“What are you, a shrink? Just forget it.”

“Why can’t you tell me? If we were on the phone, you’d be talking my ears off about anything that comes to your mind, so what’s up, _Sourpuss_?”

“Are you being annoying or caring right now?” Stiles genuinely wanted to know. Sure, his primal instinct was to ignore his feelings and use sarcasm as a defence mechanism, but it never crossed his mind that Derek might actually care.

“Knowing you, I’m kinda going for both and just hoping for the best.”

“Fine,” he knew that was as good as he’d get from Derek. Jesus, how he wished for one of them to be better at this stuff, “I was just…” he trailed off, trying to find words. How do you ask a hot ass werewolf if he was still interested because it didn’t seem like he was? “Do you…” his mouth bobbed open and shut a couple times, making him feel like a fish before he gave up with a sigh.

“Okay, let’s try this,” Derek’s hand found Stiles thigh, while the other settled firmly on the back of his neck, “look at me,” he demanded and Stiles complied. Not because he was scared, but because somewhere in the last week he’d found himself in a place where trusting Derek had become an instinct. “Does this have something to do with me?”

“Dude, you’re a werewolf, everything in my life has _something_ to do with you.”

“You know what I mean, jackass.”

“Yes,” Stiles said without thinking, “it does.”

“Okay, then I’ll start,” Derek cleared his throat and Stiles could see the nervousness in his eyes before he hid it by looking down at where Stiles was mindlessly playing with one of Derek’s fingers, resting on his thigh. “I’m scared.”

Stiles hadn’t expected that. At all. At some point he’d sort of accepted that Derek didn’t do fear. Or, at least, he would never announce being afraid. “You’re what now?”

Derek let out a breathy laugh and removed his warm hands from Stiles’ body to rub them into his own eyes, taking a moment to think what he was about to say through. “I was freaked out at first. When you kissed me,” he said, taking a deep breath, that Sent Stiles down a road of every possible option for continuing conversation. _I was never really interested. I felt sorry for you, so I went along with it. I didn’t like what you had to bring to the table. You’re underage, you walking lawsuit…_

Only a fraction of a percent somewhere in the back of his brain imagined something along the lines of what Derek actually went on to say. “I’d pined after you for so long, I felt immediately drawn to you. I felt…possessive? No, wait that sounds aggressive. Not like that. I just…” Stiles hid his laugh behind an encouraging smile. “I thought maybe keeping my distance would help set myself some boundaries, but turns out that was a shit plan.”

“Made it worse?”

“Made it so much worse,” Derek confirmed.

“Okay, talky, sharey, feely time,” Stiles let out a shaky breath. “Honestly, I just missed you.”

“We’ve been sleeping together every night.”

“You think that counts? You get here when I’m already falling asleep, I barely even remember that you’re here, man,” Stiles didn’t mean to sound as blaming as he knew he did, “and you’re gone when I get up, and I just miss you.”

“Yeah, I know, I suck.”

“No, you don’t,” Stiles led his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder in exasperation.

“Not yet, at least,” he felt Derek shrug.

“Oh, so now you’re funny again, are you?” Stiles tried to lean back to dramatically roll his eyes, but Derek wouldn’t let him.

“I’m actually still very funny, yes,” Derek chuckled, holding Stiles in a lazy embrace, sliding his hand into his hair. It wasn’t too comfortable on his back, but Derek’s hot skin against the side of his face did wonders to make him ignore that.

“You’re not gonna love this next part,” Derek warned.

“You can’t tell me all that and then break up with me,” Stiles shot back to a straighter position and pointed warningly at the amused-looking werewolf in front of him. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you can’t break up with me without even telling me we’re together.”

“I’m not breaking up with you, moron, I’ll just be gone for a few days,” a glint of the old, annoyed Derek shimmered though in his voice, but it was mostly masked by the adorable little ‘calm down, you’re fine’ look.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked, getting up and taking the plates to the sink.

“Can’t tell you.”

“Uh huh, yeah, no, that’s not gonna work here, buddy,” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, watching Derek watching him. It was hard to stay angry when he was dressed like that. Or, rather, not dressed. “You don’t get to be all like ‘ _oh, I can’t stop thinking about you, I’m worried about you all the time, I’m so obsessed with you, Stilesy-Wilsey_ ’ and then just pull a ‘ _not tellin ya’_. Spill, Hale.”

“I never said I’m obsessed with you,” Derek stated, ignoring Stiles’ demand and moving for the stairs.

“You are, though,” Stiles yelled after him, “you can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to yourself!”

“That kind of thinking is gonna do wonders for your ego,” Derek yelled back from Stiles’ bedroom.

He didn’t want to go upstairs and intrude. Well, he did, actually. A lot. But stepping over so many boundaries in one day might cause a glitch in the already compromised clockwork they were working with.

So Stiles washed the plates and put the pan in the sink to rinse before chugging the remains of the strong coffee Derek had brewed. They definitely didn’t have the same taste in caffeinated drinks, but Stiles was pretty sure that can be dealt with.

“When will you be back? Can you at least tell me that?” Stiles rested his chin on his laced fingers to look as uninterested as possible, when Derek descended the stairs, clad in his own clothes, leather jacket in hand, all cool and untouchable.

Derek rolled his eyes ever so dramatically and changed his trajectory from the front door to Stiles, who was half laying on the dining table, playing the guilt trip card, surprising him by wrapping his arms around stiles from the back. “Don’t be a dick,” his tone was sugar sweet and his beard tickled against the back of Stiles’ neck, “it won’t be more than a week.”

“A week,” Stiles whined as Derek shushed him, having already anticipated the reaction, and kissed the top of his spine, lingering there for a moment and managing to shut him up instantly. It didn’t take long for Stiles to succumb as Derek’s lips moved to his jaw and ended in a scattering of kisses on his cheek. And then, in a heartbeat, he was gone, only his scent and warmth lingering for a second as he headed for the door.

“Uncool, dude,” Stiles got up from his seat and followed his (possibly, maybe) boyfriend to the door, leaning against the wall as the werewolf put his shoes back on, which he’d probably hidden in Stiles’ room before.

“I beg to differ,” Derek shrugged, putting on his jacket and checking himself out in the mirror, “very cool.”

“Still not funny,” Stiles growled under his breath, but knew Derek would hear.

Derek looked back at him before opening the door, and something seemed to cross his mind and change behind his eyes, so he took a step back and kissed Stiles for the longest moment, timidly, shyly, like offering friendship to an injured animal. “A week,” Derek whispered, his face still mere millimeters away from Stiles’. He wasn’t sure if he was saying that as a remedy to either of them or as a reminder for himself to not take a second longer. If he was being fair to himself, it was probably both.

“I’ll be back in your bed in no time,” Derek assured and disappeared before Stiles could comment on how kinky it sounded.

* * *

Dealing with the sleeping alone was, frankly, much less horrifying than Stiles had made it out to be. He _was_ very used to having another body next to him, and his bed _did_ feel unfamiliarly large, even after just a week, but he got through five whole nights without waking up screaming or gasping for air, which, even with Derek there, would have been an accomplishment.

It was, however, concerning that Derek never made any contact. Now, Stiles wasn’t the pushy kind, so he would never call first, and he also usually wasn’t the paranoid kind, but this time it was sort of getting on his nerves. For all he knew, Derek could have been dead in a gutter somewhere and Stiles would never know.

Scott, even not knowing the nature of his best friend’s internal torment, kept up his helpfully bubbly appearance, being there for him every step of the way, although, Stiles was sure that might have been because he was avoiding his dad and pretending that wasn’t an impending, pressing matter in his brain.

Lydia had taken to tutoring Jackaline in math and biology after being talked into it by Cora. Stiles didn’t really understand how she’d managed to do that, since Lydia still very pointedly and obviously blamed Jackaline for trying to destroy Beacon Hills. Then again, Cora was a Hale and Stiles knew better than anyone not to mess with a Hale.

The Sheriff had started taking on more hours and had begun taking case files home. And not even recent ones – closed, old, dusty cases, some of which Stiles knew for a fact he would be mentioned in, if anyone, other than his dad, had any idea of what was really happening in the town they’ve lived their whole lives in.

Every time things started looking up, they threw him back on the ground for thinking so positively.

One thing he could really be happy about, for the moment, was that they weren’t in the middle of another supernatural crisis they had to fix all on their own, since the only real supernatural Power Rangers squad the town currently had were three werewolves, their hunter, a chick that screamed, a witch and a boring old human. And they were all teenagers. And clueless. About everything. Constantly.

For the first time in a year, Stiles could focus on school, which he knew his father was very happy about, and reminded him of it constantly. His grades were going up, he actually almost understood calculus and he knew every disagreement between Hamilton and Jefferson by heart. In fact, history classes were his favorite part of the curriculum. Well, that was until he was asked to come to the front of the class and had what he thought was a panic attack.

All the words were out of focus and his vision went fuzzy before the letters started sliding off the page one by one. He was convinced he was going insane. He was also convinced his heart was beating loud enough not only for Scott, who was sitting ten feet from him, to hear, but also Isaac and Cora on the other side of the building.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. That was all he could think about. In and out, in and out, but it came out in wheezes. His lungs burned, his legs couldn’t hold him, his head ached and his eyes were going darker by the second until all the letters fell from the page and he fell from the podium.

Someone asked him if he was okay. Then someone else repeated it. One of those voices was Scott, he was sure of it. The other one must have been the new history teacher. When Scott suggested he’d take him to the nurse’s office, Stiles knew he just needed to get out of the classroom and he’d be fine. Just a few steps and out the door. Scott could take it from there. He didn’t have to be conscious for that anymore.

But Scott wouldn’t let him shut off. He pulled him to the boys’ restroom with his werewolf strength, not letting Stiles hit the ground on their way. Everything was loud and obnoxious, even though it was the middle of fourth period and the hallways were empty. He couldn’t even focus on his own walking and that should come as a no-brainer, so he was just thankful to have reached a sink to lean on.

He was sure it was a dream. He knew what dreams felt like and this was it. Stiles caught himself thinking what a shame it was that his nightmare-free streak had ended, barely breaking the last record. He was still half convinced of it when Scott asked him to count his fingers to prove he didn’t have extra ones like he would if it truly had been a dream.

But Scott didn’t have extra fingers. Neither did Stiles himself, once he glanced at his own hands. This wasn’t a dream and Stiles really did feel crazy. He slid down the wall until his ass hit the cold, tiled floor, desperate for some clarity. He’d liked the stillness of the last few days. He’d enjoyed the routine of only worrying if he’d done his required reading and put his jeans in the washing machine. He didn’t like feeling like he had to run from something. Run from his own mind.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he asked, realising he was still gasping for air as if walking down the hall to a bathroom had been the same as running a marathon.

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted, “but whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Am I?”

Scott looked sympathetic. It wasn’t pity or patronisation. It was genuine terror and worry for his best friend’s well-being.

“I’m straight up losing my mind, Scotty.”

“Come on,” Scott stretched out his hand in offer to stiles who surveyed it suspiciously before letting himself be holstered up. Scott even steadied his best friend by the shoulder before Stiles promised he was fine.

“What if I am, though?” Stiles asked, making Scott look at him as if he’d never even consider that option, “What if I can’t do this anymore? What if we can’t help Jackaline?”

“Who says she needs help?”

“Her dad’s an asshole, she can barely control her powers and everyone either thinks she’s insane or is scared of her,” Stiles sighed, “and she’s in love with her best friend, on a more human level of problematic.”

“I hope this isn’t your way of telling me you’re in love with me,” Scott’s smile made his eyes into a thin line.

“Derek, remember?” Stiles punched him lightly in the chest.

“Uh huh,” Scott was still smirking, “whatever you say, lover boy.”

“No, I, uh…” Stiles started, seriously contemplating telling Scott, “never mind. You wanna help me help Jack?”

“We can try,” Scott said after a long moment, “we can always try.”

* * *

They caught up with Cora and Jackaline just as the last period ended and they were heading to the Camaro Derek had left Cora for safekeeping. Cora herself, as usual, was not in the mood for social interactions, besides she and Lydia were too busy having a staring contest, so Stiles kept the talking between him, Scott and Jackaline.

“He will never let that happen,” Jackaline scoffed when Stiles offered the most mundane, teenage activity he could imagine. Throwing a party, “he’d never let me go to a party.”

“I thought you said he’s afraid of you,” Scott reminded.

“Yes, but he also likes to keep me on a short leash for exactly that reason. I’d never be allowed out that late.”

“You do realise some of us are werewolves, right?” Stiles crossed his arms.

“So?”

“So,” Scott elaborated, “we’re really talented when it comes to sneaking out.”

Jackaline smiled, nervousness, appreciation and rebelliousness mixing in her features, thanking Scott with nothing but her eyes, and, for some reason, making Stiles slightly uncomfortable.

“Okay,” Stiles dragged out, “so what are we thinking with locations?”

“I have an idea,” Cora joined the group with a proud smirk plastered on her lips, Lydia smiling next to her as if she already knew what the idea was.

* * *

“You get here right now,” Stiles insisted when Scott had laughed and said he’s already in bed, “I’m not doing this alone.”

Mischief night was one of Stiles’ favorite traditions. Not only in his academic life – but in general. The night before Halloween when everyone was allowed to wreak havoc throughout the school without consequences. It was also a wonderful opportunity to piss off the Coach to the max. Stiles and Scott always did it together and he was not prepared to quit on that tradition. Besides, it was as good a distraction as any from not being able to sleep without Derek, the handsome fucker having made Stiles addicted to another body’s warmth against his.

“Aren’t we too old for this? It was funny when we were thirteen, but…”

“It will never not be funny, get here right now, this is your last warning,” Stiles announced, “You need to be here in five seconds. And I mean five, four, three, two…”

He was interrupted by his own scream as he turned around and saw a shadowy figure behind him where he wasn’t actually expecting anyone to be that quick.

“One?” Scott offered as Stiles lifted himself from the floor, “you know, for someone who’s best friends with a werewolf, you’re surprisingly shit at scary situations.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles warned, pointing his finger into his best friend’s smirking face, “let’s go.”

“What exactly are we doing this time?” Scott asked, now sounding much more invested than he did a few seconds ago on the phone from his bed.

Stiles didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He just presented Scott with a rusty old screwdriver he’d taken from the garage. Scott laughed and shook his head, heading into the Coach’s office. “I hope you know how to tie a pretty bow,” Stiles mentioned, pulling out a small cardboard box from his backpack.

“Screws in the box?” Scott asked.

“Screws in the box,” Stiles whispered, feeling his smile grow to that of a maniac.

“It better be worth it,” Scott sighed and got to work on the Couch’s desk chair.

It was. By golly, oh me, oh my, it was worth it. The only regret Stiles had the next day was that he wasn’t present when the Coach received his Halloween present. Although they did hear him when he did, yelling a loud “SON OF A BITCH!” that absolutely everyone in the classroom, supernatural hearing or not, could have heard.

Worth it.

A thousand percent.

“Mischief night, Devil’s night, I don’t care what you call it,” he stormed into the room, throwing a pencil to the ground with much more force than necessary, “you little punks are evil. You think you’re funny? Every Halloween my house gets egged,” he went on as snickering continued all around them and Stiles was absolutely enjoying himself, basking in the pride of how stupid, insane and absolutely amazing his plan had been. “A man’s house is supposed to be his castle,” he continued as Stiles looked to find Scott laughing merrily a second before the Couch’s fist hit his desk.

It was a sight Stiles would’ve killed to have been filmed for further distribution, but the Coach finding another wrapped box on his desk only to throw it on the ground and crush it with his foot before opening and finding a genuine birthday present inside was absolutely, unequivocally the cherry on top of the iceberg. 

Stiles Loved mischief night.

Stiles loved Halloween.

* * *

“That was the best one,” Scott said as soon as they were out of the class, stopping by Stiles’ locker to leave his econ book there.

“Well, top three, for sure,” Stiles commented, digging through old tests in hope for an energy bar or something sweet to snack on after the short night of sleep he had thanks to the mischief night. “I’d say the rotting ham in a locked drawer was better, except for the smell evaporating into the rest of the school. No, forget the smell, that was definitely the best one,” he laughed and turned to Scott when he didn’t hear a response.

“Yeah, yeah, man,” Scott turned to Stiles after a few seconds of dead air, “that was better, we should really strive for that lever next year,” he rambled on, but was unable to distract Stiles from the fact that he’d been watching something on the other side of the hallway while Stiles was talking, so Stiles turned to see what his best friend had been looking at to find Jackaline fumbling with taking three notebooks out of her bag.

“Ah,” Stiles dragged out, turning back to Scott with a knowing smirk, “hot for the witch, are we?”

“No, I’m not,” he shot back in defence before really thinking it over, “I mean, she’s…” he stuttered for a bit and sighed, giving up, probably knowing Stiles would know the truth, having known him his whole life, “yeah, maybe a little.”

“So? Ask her out,” Stiles said nonchalantly, still digging though his locker, now having lost all hope for a long-forgotten snack, and making a mental note to start keeping those in there in the future.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” Stiles closed his locker, fighting the urge to call Scott a dingdong.

“Right now?”

“Right now, Scott, I don’t think you get it,” he took a hold of the werewolf’s shoulder as they started walking, “You’re the alpha, you’re the apex predator, everyone wants you, dumbass,” he stopped not far off from where they’d started, noticing the confusion in Scott’s eyes, “You know, you’re like the hot girl that every guy wants,” he assured, not really lying and knowing if Scott was listening to his heart, he wouldn’t hear it stutter. The guy was crazy handsome. That and the added quality of not knowing it and being adorably awkward. He would be a real catch, if he wasn’t painfully straight and Stiles hadn’t already caught some of his own.

“I’m the hot girl?” Scott asked just as Isaac joined the conversation, looking reasonably confused.

“You,” Stiles slapped Scott’s cheek as lovingly as he could, “are the hottest girl,” he promised.

“What?” Isaac whispered.

“I’m the hot girl,” Scott smiled widely, looking over to Jackaline and then to Isaac.

“Yes, you are,” Isaac confirmed, going along with something he had no context for, and kissed the top of Scott’s head before walking to class with Stiles, leaving Scott grinning like he’d just found out Christmas was every day from now on.

* * *

Stiles tried calling Derek the next morning, just like he had last two nights. And last two days on his lunch break. And maybe also before going downstairs for breakfast. No answer. Ever.

So he shook it off, trying not to think about him lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or Cora throwing a party that would destroy his loft and make him pissed if he ever found out. Mostly, he just tried, and failed, not to think about Derek at all.

Stiles grabbed his set of keys from the kitchen counter, almost missing them and not quite remembering leaving them there, but, reaching for the leftover coffee his dad had brewed, they fell from his grip and landed on the floor with a heavy jingle.

“Damn it,” he whispered absently and bent down to pick them up, grabbing the set by one specific key that he’d never seen before. “How did you get here?” he wondered out loud and thought, for a second, that maybe these were his dad’s office keys, but discarded the idea, noticing his neon green keychain dangling, the weird little creature – he’d never really figured out of which species – sticking its tongue at him. Realising he’s going to be late unless he gets a move on, he decided to ask his dad in the evening, if he knew what it opened.

“So?” he asked, catching up with Scott by his locker when he got to school, “did you ask her?”

“Yeah,” Scott looked pleased with himself.

“And?” Stiles prompted further, “when are you going out?”

“Oh, well, uh,” Scott blushed.

“You didn’t sleep with her already, did you?”

“What?” the werewolf looked taken aback by such an outrageous accusation, “no, God, no,” he laughed.

“What then?” Stiles asked, not quite understanding what was wrong. There was no way Jackaline would have said no. She was too polite, for one thing. Besides, Stiles noticed them looking at each other when the other isn’t looking back. He wasn’t blind. No, it wasn’t Jackaline saying no. It was Scott being a dumbass and never actually specifying what he wanted. “What did you ask her?”

“If she needed help sneaking out,” Scott admitted hesitantly.

Stiles sighed. Of course he hadn’t actually asked her out. He couldn’t do it if his life depended on it, the terrified little puppy, “Dumbass,” Stiles scoffed.

“Excuse me, you’re not doing too amazing on the whole Derek front either, are you?” Scott tried to tease, but Stiles just raised an eyebrow at his best friend in answer. “Wait, what?”

“What?” Stiles turned his voice as innocent as he could.

“You two aren’t…I mean, you haven’t…have you?”

“What?” Stiles pretended he had no clue what was happening in the conversation.

“Have you?”

“Alright, listen up, you little gossip weasel,” Stiles snickered, “you ask Jack out for real, and I’ll tell you about Derek.”

“So there’s something to tell?” Scott got all excited and Stiles hoped it was because he was happy for his best friend, not because he was in on a secret.

“Go!” he instructed and pushed the giggly werewolf forward, making him blend into the stream of kids hurrying to get to class, before shaking his hand out and brushing his fingers over the mysterious key in his pocket, to check if it was still there and he hadn’t imagined it.

There wasn’t really a reason for it to be there. It wouldn’t work as a surprise, he had no way of knowing what the key opened, yet there it was, having appeared as if out of thin air to taunt him and make him wonder if metal objects had the same supernatural abilities that some of his friends, or if inanimate things also tended to have the added value of materialising out of nothing.

He shrugged it off, just like he did most things these days, pretending it didn’t bother him and shoving them away in the back of his mind to deal with when it comes to it. He knew worrying hurt twice, so he cracked his knuckles and headed into class, only letting himself worry about how to clean an apartment after a party so that its owner would never know there was one. It wasn’t even his idea to have it there, but he was already acting like the squad mom to prevent trouble for his idiot supernatural children.

* * *

“This is not going to end well,” Stiles warned as he entered Derek’s loft with Lydia on his arm who’d begged for a ride, finding it full of people he’d never seen before and some whose faces he’d somewhat memorised in school hallways. Cora suggesting their apartment for a party had gotten an immediate ‘no’ from Stiles and he hoped everyone else would agree, being terrified of the werewolf. Which, okay, fair, he used to be, but now he just didn’t want to do that to his trust.

“Who are all these people?” Lydia asked, looking around the glow-in-the-dark paint-covered bodies moving to the deafening bass.

“My friends,” Cora showed up out of nowhere and dragged an unwilling Lydia by the hand over to the makeshift bar that appeared to be Derek’s desk. They were so dead.

Blacklights hung from the walls, illuminating everything white and neon in an almost radioactive glow. There were people painted as skeletons, demons, some had a word written on their backs, mostly words that would have anyone sent to the principal’s office if said out loud in class. Most people were wearing something that shined in the light, some girls had bright wigs and smeared neon orange lipstick.

Stiles could see spilt drinks on the sticky floor from up where he was standing, there had to have been something broken already, judging by how intoxicated people looked.

The worst part was, and Stiles hated to admit it, it looked fucking fun. If he wasn’t so hell bent on hating Cora’s idea, he could really enjoy himself. At least for a moment.

“Derek can never know about this,” Isaac stated, watching Allison pick up a couple loose cups from the floor and taking them to the kitchen.

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles sighed.

“I sort of regret letting Cora do this,” he continued as Stiles hummed in agreement, “I probably shouldn’t have helped her.”

“You helped?” Stiles couldn’t believe his ears.

“Hey, if I want to live peacefully, I need to make sacrifices.”

“Derek will make you into a sacrifice if he finds out.”

“Here’s to hoping he doesn’t,” Isaac handed Stiles a red plastic cup and cracked his neck before taking Allison’s hand to lead her into the crowd of jumping people.

He let his eyes slide over the room, Cora pouring Lydia a drink and smiling devilishly as Stiles tried to not think about what Jackaline would say if she saw that, Danny dancing on the corner with someone Stiles assumed to be Cora’s friend, the rest of the lacrosse team spread out, having had no trouble finding someone to dance with, no one apart from him just standing around worrying what the owner of the loft would say if he ever found out.

He exhaled quickly and downed the drink Isaac had handed him, regretting it instantly, the rum to Coke ratio much different to what he’s used to, but then it kicked in and about 5% of the worrying left his body. Maybe even 7%.

“They got a freaking DJ?” a voice said from behind him and he turned to find Scott and Jackaline, the girl seemingly mesmerised by the view in front of her. Rightfully so. She had probably never seen anything close to the likes of this. Well, neither had Stiles, really, except for that one time Scott made him go to a gay club.

“This is incredible,” Jackaline was still looking around like a child in a candy store.

“Wait ‘til you try this,” Stiles winked and poured her a much easier-to-get-down drink.

She drank the whole thing in one go, wincing as she handed the empty cup back to Stiles.

“Sorry,” she laughed, explaining, “thirsty.”

“Keep an eye on her?” Stiles asked Scott as Jackaline noticed Cora and Lydia on the dance floor and moved to join the two of them.

“Will do,” Scott watched Jack fondly and followed her.

Stiles laughed, wondering if anything had happened between the two of them on their way here, just like he was curious about anything about to happen between Lydia and Cora over the course of the night.

He bent down to grab a stack of cups that had been knocked on the floor, which made the set of keys he’d spent all day fondling fall out of his pocket. He noticed the mysterious new one shining a bright green in the UV light, as if someone had left a paint-covered fingerprint on it. He looked it over, squatting over the floor until someone bumped into him and he had to catch his balance by resting one knee on the liquor-soaked floor, staining his jeans as he lifted his knee off the floor, a horrifying realisation dawning. He whipped back up, looking around the large room, but the corner he was thinking of was empty apart from a body painting station, manned by one of the brightest-colored girls in the room. What he expected, or, more likely, feared to find there, was gone. Derek had moved his bed to an actual bedroom. No one could spill anything on it.

Feeling the rum coursing through his blood, he suddenly felt dizzy and slightly fuzzy, so he moved for the stairs, in front of which someone, probably Cora, valuing her privacy like any combination of a teenager and a Hale would, had tied a rope and hung a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign. A girl in a bright green bob wig with bright orange strands in it tried to have a go at him on his way there, which he felt flattered about and registered as potential ‘making Derek jealous’ material, assuming the werewolf didn’t kill him first.

He had no trouble distinguishing which cohabitant had which designated room, Cora’s was surprisingly girly with clothes thrown on the bed and hanging out the drawers and make up splayed across her desk, bedside stand covered in books and a dried rose hanging from her headboard. Isaac didn’t own anything more interesting than a pile of finished homework on the side of the bed which he probably didn’t use for sleeping and a portable record player on his windowsill, the impressive vinyl collection consisting of no more than four albums.

He found the bathroom on his way to the door at the end of the hallway, noting which room was probably behind it, and glad he now knew where to go once needed to pee, which, knowing him, would be soon enough.

Derek’s room was wafted in his cologne, as if the guy had just gotten dressed and headed downstairs for the party. It was tidy as hell, nothing seemed to be out of place, except for a single drawer in his dresser left open half an inch, which Stiles couldn't resist pushing back in. A huge leather rocking chair was bathed in the moonlight coming through the factory window, the shadows of its rusted slates dancing over the curves in the blanket, casually thrown onto one of the armrests.

Stiles couldn’t imagine Derek spending his free time, rocking in a chair, letting the sunlight warm his body. Then again, Stiles would have never imagined Derek to be the softie he was, sneaking into his bedroom every night just so neither of them would have to sleep alone. He could, however, imagine an old Derek occupying the leather-bound chair, reading to his grandkids, grey eyebrows disappearing into grey hair as he laughed along with them.

What Derek also had was an impressively extensive bookshelf, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, containing mostly scrunched up, ancient-looking books about magical creatures not unlike Derek himself, history books, A4 bounds of scientific research on just about anything Stiles had googled when he’d just found out the supernatural truly existed, some of which Derek had made notes on with red ink, arrows pointing to underlined passages with comments like ‘stupid’ or ‘not even close’. He almost missed the plain-looking black paperback with something red on its spine until he realised it was ‘Twilight’, making a mental note to never let Derek live that one down.

He needed to sit down, the room spinning around him and he began to wonder if there was anything else in the rum and Coke Isaac had so graciously offered him. The bass from the music downstairs was still making itself present in Stiles’ feet, even if he couldn’t decide whether it was the music or his own blood thumping in his ears that he heard.

Deciding to lay down on the carefully made bed, he felt himself drifting away further than he expected, barely managing to cover himself with a blanket before everything went dark and he felt like he was falling from a great height.

He wasn’t downstairs at the time, so he didn’t know Derek had returned, but he did hear the monstrous “GET OUT!” from the living room, snapping him out from a sleep that had left him even more dazed and confused than before. He tried to adjust his sight, but the dark room felt bright and filled with angelic light and his head wouldn’t cooperate and just stop spinning. He knew he should get back downstairs and at least try to calm Derek down before he ripped someone apart limb by limb, but he couldn’t even get up from the bed.

There was a faint chattering of disappointed rave enthusiasts having been made to leave before he heard Derek barking orders to clean everything up, as Stiles assumed somewhere in his heavy brain, to Cora and Isaac, and, by extension, probably Lydia, Allison, Scott and Jackaline, too.

“Where’s the brain?” Derek demanded, but Stiles couldn’t hear anyone answer, “Oh, come on, you literally can’t figure out anything without him leading you along,” the annoyance was clearly audible in his voice, “Where’s Stiles?” he asked slowly and clearly, as if talking to a complete set of idiots.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall and then the door opening. He was sure he was saying something, but all language came out slurred and he was pretty sure the correct work order wasn’t even a distant concern of his tongue’s.

His head fell back down on the pillow, everything around him moving in slow motion as his vision went horizontal and his eyelids refused to open back up after he’d blinked.

Someone was lifting his head up what seemed like a second later and telling him to drink, even though his extensive insisting that he was fine and didn’t want any more alcohol tonight.

“It’s water, Stiles,” Derek’s voice assured, sounding like an echo, bouncing off of one side of his skull to the other and back again, hitting him like a ton of bricks, so he winced, complied and took a sip, if only to stop Derek from talking for the time being. “Who gave you the drink, Stiles?” Derek whispered which helped slightly with the banging.

Stiles shushed him and rubbed a hand into his beard, trying to think, but no thought formed as he knew it should. He saw colorful specs dancing around his vision not unlike the bodies had downstairs and they were all he could focus on.

“Concentrate, baby, who was it?”

Baby. That was nice. Stiles liked that. He smiled, enjoying the nickname, hoping Derek could call him that more. Maybe he should change Derek’s contact to ‘Baby’. Maybe he should focus on the matter at hand. “Isaac?” he wondered out loud, only now noticing the hand that had been raking through his hair the whole time of the conversation.

“Sleep it off,” Derek ordered and Stiles wasn’t sure if it was his obviously intoxicated state of mind that imagined the angry growl, vibrating off Derek.

* * *

It was still bright when Stiles opened his eyes, but this time it was because of actual light. He was warmed by something fluffy covering him as well as the rays of obstructed sunshine coming in through the practically antiqued glass in the window. The light was weak and orange, it couldn’t have been too long after sunrise.

His eyes skimmed over the room he vaguely remembered seeing in the dark, landing on a figure sitting in the leather rocking chair he definitely remembered seeing last night. The figure wasn’t looking at him, but it was clearly Derek, his feet propped up on the wall, sweatpants, that were unfortunately much larger than the ones that Stiles had lent him, riding up at his calves.

“You’ve got a Twilight book,” Stiles announced in a husky, creaky voice, getting Derek’s attention.

“What?” Derek hid the smile that had managed to break through on his face, but Stiles still noticed it.

“There,” Stiles pointed to the bookshelf with his gaze, “the black and red one, I can see it from here,” he teased.

“It was my sister’s,” Derek explained as Stiles snorted a laugh, but then he got up to grab it from the shelf and opened it to the title page, pointing at a small bit of scribbly hand writing on the bottom right corner, explaining that the book was property of Cora Hale, age 9. “She was into it, dad got it for her, I found it in an old suitcase after the fire, thought I’d keep it for sentimental value.”

“Oh,” Stiles couldn’t look away from the small smile on Derek’s lips, “sorry,” he whispered, watching Derek put it back on the shelf and coming to sit on the floor, resting his chin on the bed next to Stiles’ head, blocking some of the light and helping Stiles see him better.

“What happened?” Derek asked quietly.

“I tried to stop them, I said it would be an awful idea, I’ll clean everything up and-“

“I know the party wasn’t your idea, you’re too smart for that,” Derek mused, “besides they already cleaned everything,” he cocked his head to the side to match Stiles’ face, “You were drugged, you know that?”

Stiles didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t even know how to register it. “Isaac gave me the drink, he wouldn’t.”

“I know, I asked him, he said he’d just picked up a random cup to get you to loosen up,” Derek explained calmly, “I’m not blaming him, but it doesn’t change the fact that you…”

“I’m fine,” Stiles promised.

“Stiles.”

“If you suggest taking me to a hospital I’ll bite you.”

“If you end up permanently damaged…”

“ _You_ can bite _me_ ,” Stiles joked and let his eyelids drift shut for a few seconds.

He didn’t notice himself falling asleep again until he opened his eyes once more as the weight on the mattress shifted, someone wrapped their arms around him and he was drifting off again.

When he opened his eyes for the third time, the sun wasn’t orange anymore, it was brighter and hit the opposite wall instead of Stiles right in the face. Derek had left, too. He liked Derek’s room. He liked waking up in Derek’s bed, enveloped by Derek’s scent in Derek’s sheets. He liked looking at the small carved wooden figurines he hadn’t previously noticed on his bedside stand, or the plant on the dresser, sitting in a black ceramic pot on which stood written ‘LAURA HALE WAS HERE’ in bold white letters. He liked the rug that greeted his bare feet as he sat up, testing the level of dizziness, delighted to find there wasn’t one.

He didn’t like thinking about the outside world. He had no fondness of the thought that his dad should return from his shift any second to find his sort-of-kind-of-haven’t-really-discussed-it-yet grounded son not in the house.

“Where is everyone?” Stiles wondered out loud when he’d descended the stairs, seeing no one apart from Derek in the apartment.

“Probably feeling guilty and left before I had the chance to yell at them again,” Derek shrugged, flipping an omelet on the pan.

“Derek, I’m so sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t your idea,” Derek reminded kindly.

“Yeah, but it still happened and I didn’t do enough to stop it. Trust me, I’m the party pooper of your dreams, I could’ve stopped it,” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, watching Derek cook, and letting himself look around the loft in the daylight when the werewolf didn’t say anything as an answer. There was an opened candy mega pack on the table, consisting of Mars bars, Twix and Bounties.

“I ate all of the Snickers already,” Derek explained, seeing Stiles look at the bag.

“Hungry on your road trip?”

“Halloween,” Derek explained, moving closer to Stiles to grab the two plates he’d set on the table, “more trick than treat thus far, though.”

“That can be changed,” Stiles scoffed and wrapped himself around Derek’s waist, before he’d had the chance to pick the plates up.

Derek laughed, hugging Stiles back tightly, doing his best to avoid squeezing the life out of him, before kissing the crook of his neck and reminding, “Food’s gonna burn.”

“You don’t seem eager to move,” Stiles sighed into Derek’s shoulder.

“Right, but we do need to get some food in you,” he murmured, sliding his fingers into Stiles’ hair and scratching ever so lightly, sending a shiver down his back.

Food did sound nice. It also smelled incredible, and Stiles knew, if he asked nicely, there would be coffee, as well. He was being babied after being drugged, the guilt about not being here to stop it from happening, setting Derek into dad mode. Stiles liked being babied. At least for the time being. “Don’t care, you smell good,” he mumbled into Derek’s shirt and felt his shoulder vibrate with a low laughter against his chin and lips pecking the top of his head.

“Do you want breakfast or not?” Derek whispered and Stiles let go of him unwillingly, sitting down on the chair he’d last used when Derek was wiping blood off his face nearly two weeks ago.

“What time is it anyway?” Stiles asked as Derek put the plate in front of him and handed him the utensils, “Thank you.”

“Almost ten,” Derek sat down next to him, “what time did you fall asleep?”

“Dunno,” Stiles said with his mouth full of eggy goodness, “found your room, your bed was comfy, that’s about all I remember.”

“Uh huh,” Derek furrowed his eyebrows, “wanna tell me why there was an orange lipstick stain on your face?”

Stiles wiped at his cheek to check, remembering the girl, but not really what she’d done, “She kissed me? Uncool, I was on something.”

“So you didn’t make out with some rave monger who’d basically broken into my apartment?” Derek’s question sounded more like an assuming statement.

“Is someone jealous? I was too busy worrying if you were still alive, if I’m being honest here,” Stiles felt like a little guilt tripping wouldn’t hurt anyone, “since, you know, you didn’t answer my calls.”

“Ah,” Derek smiled, knowing what Stiles was doing, “I scared three kids yesterday,” he looked far too proud about the confession, “trick or treaters. But I gave them candy beforehand, so-”

“Where were you?” Stiles asked.

“Just getting in my car to get back home. They came up to me and I roared.”

“First of all, that’s fucking mean,” Stiles lectured, but couldn’t help the laugh that broke through as he imagined three little idiots running away screaming, “Second, I mean for the whole week. Where did you go? I didn’t press, hoping you’d tell me when you come back.”

“I _was_ going to tell you,” Derek said and got up, abandoning his plate and Stiles to grab something from a duffle bag as Stiles surveyed his every move. “I needed to find Peter before getting this. And peter didn’t want to be found, so I needed a few days.”

“Where was he?” Stiles asked to be polite, but really he cared more about the round little wooden jewelry box with the same Triskelion symbol on its lid as Derek had on his back.

“Nevada,” Derek sat back down next to stiles at the table, “he’d thought it was clever, since I’d probably start looking in the other side of the country,” he snickered.

“What’s in the box?” Stiles whispered, not taking his eyes off it.

"Is that your best Seven impression?" Derek laughed and opened it.

“It’s empty,” Stiles acknowledged as if Derek wouldn’t already know that.

“It wasn’t when I found it,” Derek screwed the lid back on and put it on the table, looking at Stiles, obviously waiting for him to ask what was in it. “Go ahead, ask.”

“You obviously wanna tell me, so go on,” two could play at that game.

“Fuck’s sake,” Derek scoffed a laugh and sat back into his chair as Stiles continued eating. “My mother’s claws,” he admitted, Stiles mouth stopping mid-chew. “It was a way to contact her. I needed…to talk to her.”

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked instead of the obvious ‘ _what did you ask?’_.

“Yeah, sure, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“She’s your mother,” Stiles said quietly, knowing exactly what that enfolds. If Stiles had a chance to talk to his mother again, he’d take it in half a heartbeat. He didn’t have to be a werewolf or a mind-intruding druid to know Derek felt the exact same way.

Derek nodded and cleared his throat before taking the two plates to the sink, avoiding eye contact as he did, but Stiles didn’t want to leave it at that. Not that he wanted to be pushy or overconfident, but he didn’t want Derek to do what he was doing. Pushing Stiles away when something was hard to talk about.

He got up from his seat and walked up to the werewolf, not even hoping to be sneaky. That was out of the question with this guy. No, he just wanted to be there for him, so when Derek turned around and tried to say something again, most probably to assure he was fine again, Stiles shut him up with a kiss that made both of them relax into each other’s embrace, as if the week apart had created the tension of a lifetime.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, when you’re not,” Stiles insisted, “please,” he added in a convincingly begging tone, and Derek nodded. “Also never leave me again, I’m vulnerable and, apparently, extremely druggable.”

Derek snorted a laugh and looked at Stiles, calculating, never letting him slip out of his embrace. It was a weird look that Stiles didn’t know how he felt about, but he let him, having missed those grey-green eyes staring holes into him. Even back when he’d looked annoyed as hell, it was better than being ignored. Whatever it was that Derek was trying to figure out now, was still one of the nice ones, so Stiles was just glad to keep his hands on the man as long as he could.

“Alright,” Derek said, letting Stiles go and dragging an exasperated whine out of the human, “come here,” he said and walked into the living room. Stiles found it odd how compliant he now was to whatever Derek demanded. He was sure that if the two solved their trust, abandonment and other issues and actually got to sex for once, Derek would be very happy to discover the same.

Derek came to a stop in the middle of the room and waited for Stiles to stand opposite of him before telling him, “Legs apart.” _Damn it,_ Stiles thought when it took him half a second to obey. The guy could beat the crap out of him now and he’d just let it happen.

“Hands up, like this,” Derek demanded, demonstrating his left hand in front of his cheek bone and the right one guarding his jaw. It took Stiles a good minute and several corrections to get right, but he already felt like Sylvester Stallone.

“Good, remember this,” Derek instructed. “Now, when you punch, you’re gonna twist your hand inward, so your knuckles are up when the fist gets to me,” he said, repeating the motion a few times while talking to let it settle into Stiles’ subconscious.

“I’m not gonna hit you,” Stiles rolled his eyes and laughed, relaxing and almost turning to leave, if it wasn’t for Derek taking a hold of his shoulder firmly and putting him back in place.

“If you’re gonna go around getting drugged, I need to know you can defend yourself,” Derek said quietly, now standing closer to Stiles and holding onto his shoulders, squeezing them before letting go and taking a step backwards, “This is what a decent punch is,” he explained in his trainer voice, the feeling of intimacy gone the second he let go of Stiles’ flesh, “Try it.”

Stiles got back into position with a sigh, making sure to guard his face with his left hand before launching his fist into Derek’s chest.

“What are you trying to do, pet me? That’s too weak.”

“Oh, yeah, insulting me is gonna work great, keep that up, why don’t you?”

“I’m not insulting you,” Derek said and put his hands up, taking a step to his right and punching Stiles’ arm. There was no doubt he was holding back, but it still goddamn hurt, “I’m saying put some mass into it.”

“I’m not as strong as you, you dingdong,” Stiles reminded.

“You don’t need to be,” Derek was back in front of him, “mass and speed is all that it takes.”

Stiles felt a sudden urge to punch him back, years of being slightly afraid of him, mixing with the annoyed looks and eye rolls he would receive, topped off with a week with no contact. Yeah, he really wanted to punch him.

“Harder,” Derek said after Stiles had tried again and, apparently, failed, “You’re not gonna put anyone out with that, move around, don’t stand still,” he said after another hit, “More,” he demanded after another one, “More!” he was almost yelling, but there was still a spark of enjoyment behind his eyes, before Stiles jumped forward, putting all he legitimately thought he had into the hit that landed on Derek’s pec with calculated precision, making the werewolf laugh, “That’s it, that’s the one!”

“You sound very excited,” Stiles informed, feeling a grin spread across his own face.

“I am,” Derek smiled, stepping forward and kissing Stiles for a few, much too short, seconds. “Okay, hands back up,” he instructed, making Stiles groan in frustration, “left hand comes straight out, turns inwards, knuckles up, see?” he asked, demonstrating a few times again, “That’s a jab, try my jaw.”

* * *

It was long into the afternoon when Stiles announced he was tired and called it quits for the day. If he was being honest, he had really enjoyed himself. Feeling like he had power over something was always nice when all your friends are supernatural and you’re not. Besides, the happy-go-lucky-ray-of-fucking-sunshine that Derek turned into whenever Stiles did something right was reason enough to keep going.

Derek put his hands down as Stiles moved for the couch, trying his best to seem less out of breath than he was. With all the crap they got into, he should really get better at cardio. Then again, he was pretty sure there wasn’t a part in supernatural fighting code that required him bouncing on his feet for hours on end.

Derek plopped onto the couch right next to him, running his hand up and down Stiles’ spine, almost as if trying to comfort him while Stiles tried to catch his breath. It really was soothing, that couldn’t be denied, Stiles liked being babied by Derek, he might have to get used to it first, though.

For years it had been him worrying about Scott or his dad, or sometimes Lydia, especially when she was dating a Kanima. But, either way, it had always been him. Just him alone. He didn’t know how to deal with being cared for, protected or trained to defend himself. He didn’t know how to deal with someone sneaking into his bedroom every night and actually wanting to see him and spend time with him. And he definitely had no clue how to act when the hottest man alive was sliding his hand under the back of his shirt, just to feel the skin-on-skin contact and make him shudder involuntarily.

“Is this helping?” Derek’s voice was deep and quiet, a hot whisper into his ear, a question he was too worked up to answer, “hmm?”

“Not really, you’re kinda making it worse,” Stiles barely managed to get out.

“Why’s that?” Derek asked, dragging his nose along Stiles’ jawline. Stiles didn’t need to answer when just a slight turn of his head was rewarded by Derek’s lips on his own, tongue demanding entrance, teeth grazing any piece of flesh in their way.

Stiles wasn’t sure exactly when he’d managed to take the upper hand and straddle Derek’s lap, but suddenly his hands were buried in Derek’s hair and Derek was holding onto Stiles’ thighs for dear life. The panting, the despair, the moans and groans they dragged out of each other while experimenting with different touches in different places drove Stiles mad. He was ready to let Derek ravage him right there, even when Isaac and Cora could return any second. He didn’t care. Derek Hale was kissing him again and nothing else in life existed.

“Come on, I’ll take you home before your father kills you. Or me,” Derek pulls back suddenly, heavy-lidded and breathless.

 _Excuse me,_ Stiles thought, _what?_ “I drove here,” he tried to sound like he wasn’t taken aback.

“Shut up and let me do something nice for my abandoned and drugged boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Stiles’ eyebrows bobbed up and down, accompanied by an annoying smirk.

“Oh, I wanna take it back so much.”

“Nope, can’t,” Stiles said excitedly and kissed Derek again, “you’ve locked it down now,” he pecked Derek’s lips again and moved away to go back upstairs and get his jacket and his phone, but not without screaming “I’m dating Derek Hale, bitches, suck it!” on his way, hearing Derek snicker back on the couch, “Derek hale is my _boyfriend_!” he added, the last word the loudest of all, “You’re a fucking cock block, by the way!” he yelled from the top of the stairs.

* * *

Stiles snuck into his bedroom with minimal help from Derek, hoping to have been sneaky enough for his father not to notice his absence. Sure, the boy spent every weekend sleeping in longer than any normal human being should need to, but that doesn’t guarantee that his dad hadn’t checked up on Stiles when he got home from the graveyard shift. A good sign, though, was that he hadn’t received any calls or texts demanding his location.

“Good luck, baby,” Derek whispered, leaning into Stiles’ bedroom window with a smile that was just asking Stiles to kiss him, but getting a surprised look from the teenager instead. “You talked in your sleep about liking me calling you that.”

Stiles smiled. Looking at the werewolf resting on his window frame in the soft sunlight and hearing the word from his lips was just as intoxicating when he was sober, so he huffed a small laugh and bent down to kiss the guy stupid.

“What was that for?” Derek asked, lazy eyes still focused on Stiles’ lips.

“Everything?” Stiles offered, and before he could explain himself Derek had jumped off the roof backwards, landing on Stiles' jeep he’d insisted on driving over here, and ran into the forest behind Stiles’ house. “Well alright,” Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, whispering to himself in the empty room and, as far as he could tell, empty house.

* * *

The second Scott noticed Stiles by his locker, he ran up to him and scared the living shit out of him, before ignoring his best friend's panicked face and demanded what Derek had said to him and whether he'd tried to kill him. Which, props to Scott, he cared for Stiles' well-being, bless his heart, but if only he knew.

"I'm fine, Scotty, see? Alive and shit," Stiles promised.

"Uh huh, sure, but, like, what did he say? What did you two do?"

"Nothing," Stiles waved him off, "he ranted about you all, made me eggs and took me home."

"He cooked for you," Scott stated in disbelief, "Derek hale made you breakfast in bed."

"What? No!" Stiles laughed and grabbed the last of his things to head to class, "he made me breakfast in his kitchen. At his table. After, you know, his rent-free lodger drugged me."

Scott seemed to think that over before nodding and speaking again, "You don't think Isaac actually wanted to do that, do you?" Scott looked almost apologetic. Stiles was sure he was thinking that he should've smelled something wrong with the cup Stiles was holding when they met briefly that night.

"Of course not. He didn't know what he was giving me," Stiles slapped Scott's shoulder in comfort, "he might not be the smartest, or my favorite person in the world, but he's not evil," he stated, walking into the empty chemistry classroom. 

He liked showing up first. That not only meant that he and Scott could grab a seat together, but they could choose any desk in the room. Only upon sitting at his favorite workstation, the one in the back of the classroom, by the window, did he notice the large numbers on the blackboard.

_6_

_8_

_88_

It was the first class of the day, of the week, in fact, it didn't make sense for the blackboard to have something written on it already, especially since their teacher hadn't shown up yet. 

"Hey," Stiles whispered in the middle of the class, lightly kicking the back leg of the chair in front of him, making Scott look at him in curiosity, "hey, Lyd," he kicked again after the strawberry blonde had ignored him the first time.

"What?" she hissed back, half turned towards the two boys.

"What are those?" he asked, nodding towards the board in the front of the classroom. He couldn't stop looking at it. It made him uneasy and he didn't like it one bit.

"Numbers, Stiles."

"But what numbers?" he demanded, ignoring her sarcastic jab at him.

She sighed, but took the moment the teacher used to write an assignment on the board to turn to them fully. "Carbon, oxygen and radium," she said without even thinking about it.

"What do they make?" Stiles asked hesitantly, a realization bout to hit that he didn't particularly like.

"Carbon monoxide and just radium."

"So nothing?"

"I guess," Lydia checked if the teacher wasn't done yet and about to call them out.

"Then why were they there?" Stiles asked, noticing Scott looking around the classroom in obvious distress, picking up on what Stiles was thinking without even having him say anything. 

"What the hell is up with you two?" Lydia narrowed he eyes, watching Scott.

Stiles swallowed the dry lump in his throat, "Am I right in assuming that carbon is C, oxygen is O and radium is Ra?"

"Doesn't Cora have chemistry with us?" Scott asked, having not located the girl in the room.

"Who wrote it?" Lydia whispered angrily, determination sparkling in her eyes, which would make Stiles wonder about its origins if he wasn't growing worried.

"It was here when we came in," Scott looked afraid now.

"Lydia," Stiles whispered, looking in his notebook where he'd written the three numbers down in case they were erased from the blackboard.

"What Stiles?" she was looking at his handwriting now, too. They both knew it. They both knew who wrote the numbers.

"What would make a key glow under a black light?" he asked, suddenly feeling off.

"What are you talking about?" she paled.

"Chemicals?"

"Phosphors," she admitted.

"Do they have those here?" he asked, looking over to the chemistry closet behind him.

"Yeah," Lydia sighed, the single sound sending Stiles spiraling down a mental cave, fear for the others' safety as well as his own digging into his chest like spikes, because his mysterious key glowed in the dark, and because Cora was inexplicably missing, but mostly, because the holes in his memory included the whole of Sunday. "Yeah, they do."

* * *

“Someone needs to call Derek,” Scott said as soon as they’d left the classroom.

“On it,” Stiles nodded, pulling out his new phone and dialing the number he was afraid to admit he’d memorized. The guilt made his fingers shake and twitch with every movement, but it also made them move faster than usual. It was terrifying – not knowing what and even if he’d done to the girl.

“Stiles, you wouldn't happen to know where my sister is, ri-“

“You don’t know where she is either?” Stiles’ voice was panicky and high.

“No, why, what happened?”

“She hasn’t been home since the party?” Stiles’ question came out as more of a statement. Scott and Lydia had turned around from the frantic walking through the hallway. Stiles wasn’t even sure if either of them knew where they were rushing to, just that they needed to move. Fast.

“She’s not in school?” Derek asked, the slightest bit of worry lodged in his throat.

“No, she’s not,” Stiles said.

“I’ll be right there,” Derek said and hung up without having waited for an answer.

“Well?” Scott asked.

“He’s driving over here,” Stiles admitted with a worried face.

“That should end well,” Lydia sighed, noticing Jackaline across the crowded room and rushing towards her.

“If Derek’s worried, doesn’t that mean we’re fucked?” Scott offered.

“Nope,” Stiles let out a shaky breath, “just me.”

* * *

“I showed up late last night, hoping to avoid Derek’s rage,” Isaac said when they’d pulled him out of a make-out session with Allison. Okay, maybe it was Stiles being bias in light of Scott’s still-pretty-fresh heartbreak and maybe they were just saying hi with a quick peck, and maybe he was feeling anxious and worried for Derek’s sister and, by extension, Derek himself, but he still didn’t like watching the light flicker in Scott’s eyes whenever he saw the two of them together. “I mean I did accidentally drug his boyfriend.”

“Funny,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“We really have more important stuff to worry about here,” Jackaline turned to the door a second before it opened, Derek’s body, illuminated by the light, “like how he’s about to lose his shit,” she sighed. It was weird to hear her curse. Her cursing twice in a row was double strange to Stiles.

“No, I’m not,” Derek’s voice filled the empty hallway. It really wasn’t wise to skip a class and plot right outside a classroom, but they’d worry about that, if it ever came back to bite them in the ass, right now, Cora was the priority.

“Where’s my sister?” he asked, hauling Isaac up by the front of his shirt as if he didn’t weigh a thing.

“Derek, this kinda counts as losing your shit,” Stiles was trying to peel the two of them apart, since he was, apparently, the only one not scared of Derek enough to try and touch him when he was angry.

“What the fuck, man?” Isaac yelled without thinking.

“Am I supposed to just believe you drugging Stiles and my sister going missing a day later is a coincidence?”

“Yes!” Isaac yelled.

“Derek, Stop it,” Stiles was using full force to try and pull Derek’s hand away from the other werewolf, “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

That did it. It sure made him calm a bit. Or maybe it was the what-the-hell-Stiles factor of it all. Either way, he put Isaac back down on the ground and turned to his boyfriend.

“I found a new key on my set the day of the party,” Stiles admitted, the quiet of his voice a perfect juxtaposition of the previous yelling, “I don’t know where it came from or what it opens, but it glowed in the dark, under those lights.”

“So?” Derek asked, his features confused and almost quizzically soft when looking at Stiles, like he was doing his very best not to be angry with him right now.

“And this morning,” he looked to Lydia, “we found Cora’s name spelled in my handwriting on the blackboard in our chemistry class. Where they have chemicals that can make things glow in the dark.”

“Are you saying you kidnapped my sister and left yourself clues?” Derek asked, patiently, although it did seem to be running low.

“I’m saying that maybe I left the message for someone to do it.”

“When would’ve you done that?” Derek furrowed his brows.

“Anytime this weekend,” Stiles wouldn’t look up to reach Derek’s eyes. He was afraid to see pain or disappointment in them, “I don’t remember anything after you dropped me off home.”

Derek’s look was quite unreadable, but Stiles just wrote it off as not being able to say whatever he actually wanted to, due to a group of teenagers watching their conversation. God, Stiles just wanted a hug. Just one. Just to get his nerves down. Man, did he need to fucking chill.

“You could file a missing person’s report at the Sheriff’s station,” Lydia suggested.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Derek agreed with an absent look and the slightest of nods.

“I’ll go with,” Stiles offered, grabbing his backpack.

“No, you’re going to class, by the way, are all of you skipping?” Derek raised an eyebrow, looking like a potentially angry father, “school is important!”

“Okay, Derek,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Tomorrow. Today we’re doing this.”

Derek sighed, “The rest of you are staying.”

“No way, that’s my best friend missing,” Jackaline insisted.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m not coming,” Lydia crossed her arms.

“Why’s that?” Stiles asked with a smirk, waiting for an answer he already knew, not noticing he was resting his elbow on Derek’s shoulder until the werewolf pointedly shoved him away for the show. Or was it because he was pissed at Stiles for kidnapping his sister? Shit, now he was being paranoid.

“I’m coming, too,” Scott’s hand found its way to Jackaline’s shoulder.

Derek exhaled a long exasperated breath and looked over to Isaac and Allison, “You two are saying put,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Isaac flashed a brilliant smile, the moment of utter terror under Derek’s accusations long forgotten.

Derek rubbed his eyes and turned around, leaving everyone watching him go until he turned around with an annoyed look and reminded, “Well?”

“Yep,” Stiles rushed along to follow him.

* * *

“Ah, the delegation of supernatural teenagers that constantly threaten to give me a heart-attack,” the Sheriff greeted them as Stiles and Derek came into his office, “what do you want?”

Stiles looked out the window and saw Lydia, Scott and Jackaline stuffed into the backseat of Derek’s conveniently parked Camaro. Explains how his dad knew they were here before the two of them came in. “Dad, we need to report a missing person,” Stiles said seriously, ignoring the joke and his father’s annoyance.

“What?” the Sheriff looked up from the pile of documents on his desk.

“My sister, Cora, she’s missing,” Derek supplied, “no one’s seen her since Friday night.”

“What time?” the Sheriff asked, leading Derek out into the bullpen and over to Parrish, making Stiles stay.

He watched the stiff movements of his boyfriend’s body as the stress and anger settled onto his shoulders. He knew Derek didn’t like official, serious bullshit like this. He definitely didn’t like having his statement taken by the police after something horrible has happened to a family member. Stiles just wished he could keep his hand on Derek’s back like was pretty sure Derek would like, whenever he got tense.

Stiles’ father returned just as he received a text from Scott, saying that Lydia was demanding to know what’s taking so long.

“So,” the Sheriff sat down behind his desk, arms crossed, and surveyed Stiles with an unreadable expression, “Derek Hale, huh?”

“Well, his sister’s missing and the first one we thought could help was you, and, since you’re my dad, I came along.”

“Uh huh,” his dad stood up and rounded the desk, only to lean against it and cross his ankles, “So there’s no correlation between that and Mrs. Johnson from next door telling me that ‘that Hale boy’ has been sneaking out of your bedroom window every morning?”

“Uh,” Stiles dragged for a good couple of seconds. He didn’t think all of this would be crashing over him over the course of a single day. He could hear all of the questions Scott would have later, maybe even Lydia, but now his dad was all up in his business, too? Sure, the man had a right to be concerned about his underage son’s endeavors, but Stiles had never even considered the possibility of his father being maybe, possibly, slightly homophobic. He’d never expressed anything alike, but it’s different when it’s _your_ son.

“Don’t deny it, I’ve seen him in your bed,” the Sheriff warned in his police voice.

“Alright,” Stiles nodded, admitting defeat, “Wait, what?”

“Are you dating Derek Hale?” the Sheriff’s act never faltered, but Stiles was still a bit hung up on the whole ‘dad seeing me in bed with a grown-ass man’ thing.

“Yes,” Stiles answered simply, hiding his hesitation. He was tired of hiding this shit. He was tired of not being out and proud, especially when he had Derek, that is, if Derek still wanted him after making his sister disappear. _Focus, Stilinski,_ he reminded himself, _this is about finding Cora not you being a pussy._

“The werewolf.”

“Yes.”

“Who’s six years older than you.”

“Yes.”

His father paused then, looking out the window, where Stiles followed his gaze to find Scott watching the two of them with worried curiosity. Of course the idiot was trying to listen in. Can’t a guy get some privacy for once? At least it looked like he couldn’t understand them through the glass and concrete. Fuck, did Stiles hope that was true.

The sheriff sighed and Stiles knew Derek would relate to how he felt. Dealing with just Stiles alone was the same amount of work as dealing with the rest of the pack, which Derek had to do on a daily basis, even though he would never admit he cared. The only plus for Derek was that he had Stiles as an accomplice, instead of another dumbass to keep alive.

“All done,” Parrish announced, popping his head through the door and leaving before anyone could respond, Derek coming back into the Sheriff’s office right after he’s gone, an odd mixture of pain and awkwardness on his face.

“You okay?” Stiles asked softly, the thought about anyone assuming something about the two of them completely out of his mind when Derek looks so much like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, sure,” Derek put on his brave face, but smiled a little smile that only Stiles ever got to see. It was a different one from all those he used on women to flirt them into giving him information or their bodies. It was one that assured he didn’t hate him. Stiles was sure Derek was incredible with the ladies, even though he never got to see him in action. Or, at least, that used to be the case. Now every time Derek so much as looks at him, he’s ready to jump him, which, Stiles was pretty sure, could be considered as _the moves._

Stiles wanted to pester him about not lying to each other about their feelings, like they had decided just a couple days ago, but his father’s presence threw a dampener in that one. “Right,” he dragged, looking at Derek with a loving warning to not lie to him when they’re alone, “we’re gonna head out.”

“You do that,” the Sheriff agreed and walked back to sit behind his desk and open a folder, “Derek, you’re coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Sir?” Derek asked at once with Stiles’ exasperated “What?”

“No one should be alone at a time like this,” he explained with an extremely empathetic look on his face. Stiles knew he still remembered sixteen-year-old Derek walking into the station to give a statement, tears still staining his cheeks and ash still covering his fingers, “besides what kind of a father would I be, if I didn’t try to get to know my own son’s boyfriend.”

Derek remained speechless, only looking to Stiles for an explanation. “He’s a good detective,” Stiles said and felt himself go pale. The thought of the three of them sitting around a table uncomfortably, with nothing to talk about, the awkwardness making the meal taste like cardboard and the air feel like poison, sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“We’re having Steak,” Sheriff Stilinski turned to Stiles with a smile that dared him to argue on behalf of his health, but one that didn’t seem mean or unsupportive, so Stiles gave in and nodded, dragging Derek along. “See you tonight, boys,” he called out after them, sounding way too smug for his own good, and Stiles barely noted Derek saying a polite ‘goodbye’.

They walked back to the car and drove back to school without another word, though Stiles could sense Scott constantly on the verge of asking a question. Jackaline was bouncing her foot nervously and sporadically and Lydia’s breathing seemed stressed. Stiles felt like he’d developed supernatural hearing. Maybe that was a side effect from kissing a werewolf.

Everything was a mess. His boyfriend’s little sister was missing, his father knew about him dating a werewolf, he was worried about Derek’s well-being in the face of all of this, and then there was the slight chance of him being absolutely guilty of a literal crime.

His eyes were closed and his head was pressed into the headrest as he fought an oncoming anxiety attack, breathing seemed difficult and so did having a steady heartbeat. The light was too bright when he opened his eyes and the buildings they passed made him motion sick. He tried to steady his mind, but it was racing a hundred miles a second, the guilt was building up and lodging in his throat, squeezing his neck shut and making his eyes water…until he felt a warm pressure on his thigh and a whispered “Calm down.”

Everything stilled for a moment and he felt almost stable enough to speak. His eyes opened and he turned to see Derek watching him as the traffic light shined a bright red. Scott was leaning forward, probably having heard the rise in his heartbeat and the unsteadiness in his breath. “I’m good, sorry,” he promised as the light switched back to green.

They were back at school in no time and Derek told them to get their asses back to class, since he didn’t want to be responsible for either of them never graduating, to which Lydia’s answer was to not sweat it.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles grabbed at his hair once both back doors had shut behind his friends, burying his head into his knees he let out a long, shaky breath.

“You can’t do this to yourself,” Derek’s breath tickled his neck, making Stiles notice the warm heaviness resting on his back and wrapping around his hunched shoulders, a comforting embrace Stiles hadn’t noticed Derek initiate, “Please stop.”

“You lied about being okay,” Stiles accused, feeling Derek’s body lift from his, an unnerving cold settling in its place.

“Your dad was there.”

“He would have understood.”

“Apparently so,” Derek smirked with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t tell him. Or anyone else for that matter, I swear.”

Derek smiled and looked down, “How did he find out?” he asked with more humor than accusation in his voice.

“Apparently you've slept through him coming into my room at some point,” Stiles laughed half-heartedly, the guilt still taking its toll, “also our neighbor saw you sneaking out,” he remembered, “several times,” he added.

“Ah,” Derek laughed airily just as Stiles announced he should probably get to class.

“Hold on,” Derek said, following Stiles’ hasty attempt at an escape out of the car. “Stiles,” he called out to him, leaning against the open door, stopping the teenager from walking away, “I don’t care who knows about this. It’s not gonna lessen the way I feel,” he said, still holding the door ajar in case Stiles would ignore him and he’d have to get back into the car and drive away. He looked nervous, as if realising he might have hurt Stiles with the way he’d reacted.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles turned back to him and squinted as the sun hit his eyes, hoping it made his smile less obvious. Man, did that sound incredible coming from Derek.

“And dinner with your dad actually sounds nice. God knows Peter and I don’t do the family thing too well.”

“Is that a guilt trip?” Stiles asked.

“Also my sister is missing,” Derek grinned and Stiles came back over to him with a sigh.

“We’ll find her,” he promised, “I’m pretty sure Lydia and Scott have a fourteen step plan already. Oh, by the way, did you get a concerned vibe off Lydia?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s boinking my little sister, if that’s what you’re trying to ask me.”

“It is, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say the word ‘boinking’” Stiles smiled, glad to hear Derek laughing and looked down, “So…see you tonight at about seven?”

“I’ll be there,” Derek announced and left a kiss on his cheek as a collateral, “promise.”

“Don’t make a habit out of promising me shit, Hale.”

“We’ll see,” Derek shrugged and got back in his car, the cool guy demeanour, which had been completely smashed to pieces just a minute ago, back in work with a cocky excellence that reminded Stiles of how he still didn’t believe his luck.

He got back into the building just as the class started and Isaac leaned forward to whisper “You might wanna know that kissing a super hot piece of werewolf hunk right in front of school is not exactly as invisible as you obviously though it might have been,” he winked when Stiles turned to him with a shocked expression and noticed several other heads turned in their direction. God he hoped he’d just imagined it. _No one cares, no one cares, no one cares…_

Great. Not only did his friends and family know about Derek, now the whole school thought he was gay. Way to trip right out of the closet.

He was hoping no one would give as much of a shit, just like they hadn’t when Danny had come out, but, then again, everyone was kind of suspicious of Danny from the get-go. Stiles was shocked himself the first time he’d jacked off to the thought of Derek roaring at Isaac and then turning back to him to announce that he was the alpha now. Stiles was never the one to be voted ‘most likely to end up with a piece of super hot werewolf hunk’.

“Shit,” he said under his breath and tried to pretend he was paying attention to history.

* * *

“Okay, we have a plan,” Scott scared Stiles as soon as he left the building after last period.

“Unexpected,” Stiles scoffed, forcing a smile. Scott’s lack of questions meant he hadn’t seen. Good. Except that it left more people to tell.

“If she still has her phone on her we could find her like that,” Lydia explained, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s actually really smart,” Stiles agreed, grasping more tightly to his backpack strap.

“Stiles, don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Jackaline’s soft voice sounded like an echo in the middle of the loud exhausted, relieved conversations of the end of the day, “You didn’t do anything,” her voice sounded human again.

“Can you just do that whenever you want?” Stiles asked, sensing a coolness in his body, remembering how terrifying it was to have someone in his head.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she seemed to realise what she’d just done and immediately looked guilty.

“Forget it,” Stiles dismissed and turned back to Lydia, ignoring the chill in his bones and pushing the memory down, “How are you planning on doing that?” he asked the redhead.

“I already asked Danny, he seemed more than willing to comply,” Lydia sounded even surer of herself than usual.

“Did you whore Stiles out to him?” Scott asked.

“Excuse me?” Stiles turned to his best friend, shocked.

“What? You think kissing Derek in front of the whole school won’t make us realise a thing or two?”

“You saw that, huh?” Stiles sighed, “damn.”

“Uh huh,” Lydia smirked, looking satisfied as hell, maybe she was, knowing she wouldn’t have to deal with Stiles pining for her like a lovesick puppy.

“Danny’s not interested, we already established that once,” Stiles smiled along, hoping his inability to wait to hear the actual plan wasn’t coming off as paranoia. Which was also happening. Of course he was paranoid, he was about 102% sure he was guilty and 104% ready to keep ignoring everyone knowing about his sexuality.

“Anyway,” Lydia said sternly as if they’d all forgotten how important all of this actually was, “he said he can hack it. Don’t ask me, it’s illegal, I don’t want to know.”

“And he’s just willing to do it? Just out of the goodness of his heart?” Stiles was suspicious.

“I don’t know, maybe he’s got a crush on her, who cares?”

“He’s gay,” Scott reminded.

“Sexuality’s a spectrum,” Lydia sounded way more defensive than she ought to be. Then again, Stiles knew exactly what she meant, even if either of them wouldn’t admit it yet, “Now can we, please, get back to Cora?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said and followed her to the computer class.

“Uh, should we be in here?” Jackaline asked carefully.

“Absolutely not, but the janitor only comes at five,” Lydia supplied.

“Not gonna ask how you know that,” Jackaline raised her hands, “just glad you two patched things up.”

“Yeah,” both Stiles and Lydia dragged and shared an unsure glance at each other.

“I’ve got a signal, but it’s coming from a cell tower out of town,” Danny’s voice suddenly reminded them of his existence.

“Where?” they all asked.

“Rosewood.”

The drive out to Rosewood was less than an hour long and the whole way Stiles was battling with the idea of calling Derek and telling him what they were doing. On the one hand it was about his sister and he had every right to know her possible whereabouts, on the other – he didn’t want to give the guy false hope. No one knew for sure if she was even there with the phone or if someone had tampered with it. A part of him didn’t want to say anything in order to surprise him and be the hero Stiles knew Derek to _usually_ be.

Danny had managed to get a more precise reading, but it was still a radius of searchable ground. Neither of them had any idea what they were signing up for. All of them were terrified.

Stiles’ driving was usually near excellent, but his hands were shaking and his mind was slipping into unrelated thoughts, so Scott took over at a gas station, making Stiles squeeze into the backseat between Danny and Jackaline, since Lydia refused to not sit in the front.

The sign “You are now entering the town of Rosewood, population 7988” was nearly invisible in the darkening evening, the glow of Danny’s laptop making it that much harder to see outside as he told Scott where to drive.

Their destination wasn’t the greatest-looking of all neighborhoods, it did seem like the sketchy part of an otherwise lovely town. All of the houses had their lights on already in the darkening twilight except for one. It definitely looked like somewhere you’d take someone you’ve kidnapped – dark, moldy and probably abandoned a long time ago, maybe used as a cult meeting place, definitely rat-infested and graffiti-decorated.

Once they got in, though, it became all the more terrifying. It was dingy and dreary, something straight out of a nightmare. Stiles tried not to look too much on the dark brown stains on the floor boards of the empty rooms as he announced he’ll check upstairs and Lydia followed suit.

“So what’s with you and Cora?” he asked once they were out of earshot from everyone else, his jittery body on the verge of betraying him and causing a meltdown. _Keep asking questions,_ he told himself, _distance yourself from the guilt you obviously should feel._

“What do you mean?” she shot back a little too sharply and composed herself immediately, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried, I’m happy for you,” he smiled, pushing his luck.

“You are?” she asked, stopping dead in her tracks and looking at Stiles as if he was a rabid animal.

“Of course,” he let out a relieved laugh, she could’ve attacked him by this point, “you deserve someone better than the lizard boy.”

“Jackson was a Kanima,” she rolled her eyes and walked into a room on their right, leaving Stiles trailing after her and hoping they hadn’t just walked into a black market organ transplant doctor’s office. What they found was slightly worse, though.

“Up here!” Stiles yelled so the others could hear, as Lydia stood frozen in the doorway. Cora was lying in the middle of the room, tiny blue flowers littered all around her body, her wrists cut and oozing blood, small, blue petals decorating the wounds that refused to heal around them, her phone in her outstretched hand, obvious that whoever put her there wanted her to be found.

“Where?” he could hear Scott asking from the top of the stairs.

“Scott, do not come in here!” Stiles warned, seeing Lydia having slid down on her knees and crawling over to Cora’s body.

“Why?”

“It’s all wolfsbane,” Jackaline said in shock, “Is she breathing?”

“Barely,” Lydia’s voice was shaking and Stiles kneeled next to her, hugging her close for a moment.

“We need to get her to Deaton, okay?” he whispered into Lydia’s ear to get her to focuse up, “Now, okay?”

She nodded with shock in her eyes before Jackaline helped her pick out the petals from her wounds and hair and Stiles moved to clear a path for Scott to walk through, brushing the wolfsbane out the way with shaking hands.

“What sort of ritualistic shit is this?” Danny’s voice made them all stop in what they were doing. They’d all forgotten he was here. It wasn’t every day that you have to tell another mortal about all of this. Then again, it was becoming more common lately.

“Danny, later,” Stiles took the matters into his own hands and looked to Scott who seemed a bit skeptic of the pathway to the girl, but there was something in his face that momentarily switched to not giving a shit and he picked the unconscious girl up and carried her downstairs to the car, Danny trailing behind in confusion

“Hey,” Stiles said, walking out the room and noticing Lydia still standing there, “you okay?”

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” her fake smiles were getting better and better by the day.

“Lydia…”

“We need,” she took a deep breath to shove down that tremble in her voice, “to get her to Deaton.”

“We will, but we need to stay calm, too.”

“You’re not calm,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly, “your guilt radiates off of you. If you felt any worse you’d be neon green.”

She was right, it was getting difficult to ignore. And that was the only way Stiles ever dealt with problems – by ignoring them. Eventually they’d disappear. That didn’t seem to be happening this time around.

“We should go,” Stiles sighed and lead Lydia back downstairs.

The back seat ended up smushed together with Scott, Lydia and Jackaline, and a limp, unconscious Cora laying atop the three of them. “I’ll drive,” he’d announced and nodded to Danny to get into the seat next to his. The guy had offered them his help without pay and had just witnessed some 21st century Charles Manson shit. He had no reason to be shoved into the back seat with what might as well have been a dead girl.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Danny asked.

“I think it’s better we don’t,” Lydia said after a brief moment of silence, “for your own sake.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Danny, please forget you saw anything,” Scott sounded whiney. Which, in his defence, did often get him what he wanted, “please?”

“Okay, then how about why Stiles was snuggling up to his cousin in front of the whole school?”

“That I can’t help you with,” Lydia retorted, the annoying little prick of a smirk was audible in her voice.

“Miguel’s not my cousin,” Stiles admitted, “I mean his name isn’t even Miguel. It’s Derek. Hale. So, if you didn’t know that, I kinda can’t be blamed for it, I thought he’s a town legend.”

“Wait, Derek Hale? _The_ Derek Hale? Whose family died in a fire?” Danny’s excitement was extremely inappropriate, but Stiles couldn’t say he wouldn’t feel the same way if the roles were reversed. Hell, he’d been far worse back when they’d first met Derek.

“Yeah, be sure to bring that up, if you ever meet him, he loves talking about it,” Stiles forced through gritted teeth. He was annoyed with people’s fascination in Derek’s past. Mostly because he used to be one of those people. Seeing it from the inside was much more painful and humanising.

“So you’re gay?” Danny quirked an eyebrow in an almost admiring way.

“Don’t even dream about it, hot shot, you had your chance,” Stiles’ mood lifted slightly as the opportunity to annoy someone presented itself, “and I’m bi, thank you very much.”

“Cool,” Danny shrugged, “you should come to our club meeting sometime.”

“Wai- wh- there’s a club?” Stiles looked to Danny twice, as quick as he would allow himself to make sure he was still watching the road, when this was so much more interesting.

“Yeah, group orgies, too, although those are only on Wednesdays,” Danny said innocently.

“Seriously?”

“No,” Danny scoffed with a ‘are you an idiot?’ look on his smug face.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think Wednesday would ever be a good choice for an orgy,” Stiles tried to seem cooler than he actually felt, “school night and shit.”

“Uh huh,” Danny smiled, “I’m happy for you, though,” he admitted, “it’s hard coming out sometimes.”

“Especially when it’s to everyone in one day,” Stiles sighed.

“Hey, at least this subject makes your hands shake less than whatever you were thinking about earlier,” Danny nodded to Stiles fingers gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, but almost steady.

“I guess it did,” Stiles said in amazement, “that’s pretty impressive.”

Stiles hadn’t even noticed they were almost back at Beacon Hills and it was only a few minutes past seven. Which means he knew where his polite, punctual boyfriend was.

They dropped Danny at his house and asked him, yet again, to forget what he saw. Stiles was on the fence about it. If anyone showed Stiles anything even close to the likes of what Danny had just seen, he’d dig his way to China looking for information, if that’s what it took. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Danny to keep his mouth shut, it was the trying to find out the truth that he found hard to resist.

“Are we going to Deaton now?” Jackaline asked, tears still wet and shiny on her cheeks, “Please? Can we just go there now?”

“Yeah,” Stiles dragged out, stopping outside his house and seeing Derek’s car parked next to his dad’s. “Tell you what,” he handed Scott the keys to the Jeep and told them to head on over there. He had no idea how Derek would react and he was sure he’d have to calculate his every word for the next few minutes.

He walked into the house and straight to the kitchen without taking his shoes off. The house smelled amazing. Like something baked in rosemary and garlic, the sounds of pleasant banter and even some laugher reaching him before he stepped into the kitchen. He didn’t even want to go in, he didn’t want to ruin this idyllic little soiree going on other side of the wall. He pondered, for a moment, if he should maybe keep this whole Cora situation to himself for a bit. He knew he was being selfish, but he also knew he could pretend Scott texts him in a few minutes.

“Stiles, we can hear you breathing over there,” the Sheriff laughed, leaning through the kitchen doorway, a bottle of beer in his hand, “Can’t believe you’re late to this, hey, I love this guy.”

“Hey, Stiles, I’m drinking beer with your dad!” Derek smiled widely, oh, that smile, Stiles was absolutely powerless, besides, it came out in other people’s presence too rarely not to appreciate. Stiles knew he needed this. Derek needed a family to hang out with, a dad to drink beer with, a well-lit, welcoming home to visit. He felt like the worst person in the world having to take it away from him, but he would be an even bigger asshole if he kept it to himself any longer.

“Derek, you need to come with me,” he said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his brain telling him to just wait a little bit, “now, please.”

Derek paled, his gorgeous smile disappearing along with the color in his cheeks, “Cora?”

“We found her,” he nodded, looking over to his dad who looked shocked, “we tracked her phone, but, Derek…I think it’s pretty bad.”

“What happened?” his dad switched to Sheriff Mode.

“She was unconscious, covered in wolfsbane,” Stiles said truthfully, he knew he wouldn’t want anything hidden from him if it was, say, his dad, “She’s being taken to Deaton’s right now, we need to go.”

Derek, being the polite young man that he was, turned back to face Mr. Stilinski with worried eyes, as if getting to his sister wasn’t enough of a reason to leave the lovely evening they had obviously been having while waiting for Stiles and his chilling news.

“Go, go, I’ll be right behind you guys,” the Sheriff ushered and Derek lead Stiles out the house and towards his car with his hand on the back of the human’s neck. Stiles just assumed he needed the contact. Which he understood, he was glad Derek hadn’t taken offence in him yet. Stiles had been worried Derek would have changed his mind, and decided that he actually did blame Stiles. Or maybe that he’d be angry at Stiles for taking a whole minute before telling him where his sister was. He couldn’t stop worrying about it. He just couldn’t. He was wired that way.

Derek sped off into the dark evening, barely waiting for Stiles to get in and close his door. They were at Deaton’s office in a matter of minutes, where a worried Scott was waiting outside for the both of them. “Dr. Deaton put her on the table and told us all to get out,” he explained as they walked into the waiting room where Lydia and Jackaline were sitting and biting their nails in nervous anticipation.

“Come on,” Stiles took Derek by his forearm and dragged him over to the darker, further corner of the relatively small room, urging him to sit down and rubbing Derek’s thigh when he joined him on the bench, “she’ll pull through, she’s strong, you know that.”

Derek just nodded and stared at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and raking his fingers through his hair. Stiles couldn’t take this. He hated Derek being upset. He’d gotten to that annoying bit all dramatic movies were about where he’d die just to make Derek have a happy life in peace. He placed his left arm on Derek’s hunched back, mirroring what Derek had done earlier in his car, leaning into him and resting his chin on Derek's spine.

It took his father 20 minutes, and Stiles beginning to nod off on top of Derek, to finally arrive, his uniform and police face on and ready to take statements, apologising for taking so long, because, apparently, agent McCall wouldn’t get off his back. If Stiles had been paying attention, he would have heard Scott going “Jesus fucking Christ,” from where he was sitting over next to Jackaline, since there wasn’t much Scott’s dad did these days that didn’t piss Scott off.

After Derek stating on record that he doesn’t press charges for the ‘stalking’ of his underage sister, and a one-on-one with each of them while Lydia paced up and down the room, Deaton finally came out of the room, announcing that Cora was stable.

“Her lungs were filled with mountain ash and her wounds had wolfsbane petals much deeper than the ones Lydia and Jackaline removed," he explained, “To be honest, she had probably been conscious for a long time during that. It would have made for a slow painful death, if you hadn’t found her,” he gave a tight-lipped smile to the group of teens in front of him.

“Can I see her?” Derek asked eagerly, not having noticed how hard he was gripping Stiles’ hand.

“Come on, kiddo, let’s get you home,” the Sheriff said after hugging Stiles. It was clear the man was only starting to comprehend how dangerous the world his son was involved in actually was. It was also clear he was long past trying to talk his son out of getting in danger.

“Can I wait for Derek? I don’t want him to go through any of this alone,” he admitted, looking down to the floor as he felt a blush creeping up his neck.

Sheriff seemed to be thinking that over for a second before nodding and adding a quiet and proud “Sure.” Stiles hoped his dad was happy for him having found someone to spend his worrying energy on, “Tell you what, we still have a lot of food at home that no one ended up eating, and that boy is not gonna do fine on his own, so why don’t you ask him to stay over tonight?” the Sheriff suggested, “he’ll be like that puppy you always wanted.”

“Really?” Stiles couldn’t believe his ears, “You’re gonna let him stay over. Overnight. In my room.”

“At least this time I’ll actually know he’s there,” there was a playful scolding look on his father’s face.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles would cry if he wasn’t so exhausted.

“Just keep the bedroom door open, will you,” the Sheriff voice was back, making Stiles laugh as he left to drive Scott, Jackaline and Lydia home.

Come to think of it, Stiles was glad he had someone else to worry about, too. Even if that meant more potential heartbreak. But hey, what’s life without a little risk?

Styles stayed for about another forty minutes, which brought his total waiting time at Deaton’s practice to a pretty round three hours. He didn’t think it was fair that all of the big, exhausting things were happening late at night, when they could so easily let him sleep for longer than a few hours at a time.

He was in the middle of watching the stars and spots dancing behind his eyelids as he rubbed his eyes, thinking this night would never end, when Derek and Deaton finally exited the backroom. “You’re still here?” Derek seemed surprised.

“Of course,” Stiles smiled, but he knew he looked tired and worn out. Deaton told them to Leave Cora there for the night, and he was going to be staying until the morning anyway. Mating season for…something…or another, Stiles really couldn’t give a shit anymore. Besides, he’d said, Cora needed to be calm and still for the night and Derek could come get her in the morning. It was hard to convince him, but he complied, most probably out of the sheer exhaustion Stiles felt like he was going through for the both of them.

They said their goodbyes and thank yous, and Derek let Stiles drag him out, even though he was obviously unwilling to go anywhere, “Come on, I’m taking you back for that dinner my dad promised you.”

“No, Stiles, that’s really not necessary.”

“Shut up and let me do something nice for my emotionally drained boyfriend, will you?” Stiles smirked, mocking what Derek had said a few days ago, but trying to do it as lovingly as he could.

Derek huffed a tired little laugh and nodded, “You’re the boss.”

“Yes, I am,” Stiles said as they got into their respective cars to drive back over to the Stilinskis, calling Lydia on his way, to tell her what was going on, then Jackaline, since she was worried out of her mind _and_ probably getting an earful from her father for coming home so late right about now. He texted Scott as he waited in his car in the driveway for Derek to get there.

The house was silent, but he couldn’t tell whether his father was upstairs asleep or back in the station doing paperwork on all of this. Judging by Derek’s loud, angry groan as he sat down at the kitchen table with his face buried in his hands, he assumed that the werewolf hadn’t heard signs of another life form in the house. Come to think of it, Stiles didn’t see his dad’s car parked outside either.

Stiles offered Derek a steak, but he already knew his answer would be the same as Stiles’, if anyone had asked him – not hungry.

“Can we just go to sleep?” Derek looked at him with bloodshot eyes and Stiles realised that it wasn’t just exhaustion. Derek had been crying. Deaton wouldn’t lie to the rest of them, so it wasn’t Cora’s situation. But it might as well have been the overwhelming intensity of the night.

Drained. That’s what they both felt. Completely and utterly drained.

Derek sat on the edge of Stiles’ bed, watching him change without a hint of shame when he received a pair of sweatpants thrown in his face. “I’m not sleeping in the same bed as your jeans, put those on,” he announced, “unless you’d rather sleep naked.”

“Are you taking advantage of my emotional state right now?” Derek quirked an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Stiles said sweetly and walked over to him to cup his jaw, “whatever gets me some,” he smiled, making Derek laugh, and, obviously, he’d take that over sulking and blaming any time.

“Did she really have mountain ash in her lungs?” Stiles asked as it was Derek’s turn to change into the far-too-tight-but-hey-that’s-how-Stiles-likes-it sweatpants.

“Yeah, Deaton said he washed it out.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know how,” Stiles shuddered at the thought.

“Neither did I, so I didn’t ask.”

When they finally did manage to get under the covers it felt like a thousand years had passed since the last time either of them had slept.

“Back to sleeping together after something traumatic has happened,” Stiles announced in the dark, the only light to reach his room being the one he’d left on downstairs so his father wouldn’t bump into something when he came home, keeping his bedroom door obediently open.

“I can feel you blaming yourself with my eyes closed,” Derek murmured against the pillow. Stiles didn’t answer, but he couldn’t close his eyes and just fall asleep either. “Okay, Stiles, listen to me,” Derek rolled over and rested up on his elbow, hovering above Stiles’ face, “You could never do this. I know you, you little shit, far better than you think I do.”

“You’re losing charisma points here,” Stiles whispered, making Derek hit him in the ribs with his free hand and ignore the loud “Ow!”

“I almost lost my sister tonight, I can’t lose you, too,” Derek said seriously, “not to your own guilt of all things.”

Stiles sighed, seeing what Derek meant. He would never want him to blame himself if they were in each other’s shoes. That didn’t, however, lessen the knot in his chest. But Derek then leaning down and kissing him did. It helped a lot, actually, “I wanna be selfish just this once,” Derek admitted, “I want you.”

“You’ve already got me,” Stiles reminded.

“Good,” Derek stated, going back to laying on his back with a thump, “Now go to sleep before I make you.”

* * *

When Stiles woke up, everything was dark. For a moment he assumed his brain was too fuzzy from the lack of sleep to focus on his surroundings, but when he tried to turn to cuddle into Derek’s side, pain shot through his leg, making him yell out in shock. Whatever he was laying on was not his bed anymore – it was hard and really uncomfortable. He wasn’t home. He was starting to feel his leg through the pain, so he tried to move it ever so slightly, receiving another jolt of pain and realising it was stuck on something.

He was starting to hyperventilate and feel hot. He was starting to panic. He fumbled around through his pockets, his last hope being that if his unconscious body had decided to take him for a midnight stroll around town, he’d at least taken his phone by reflex.

There was a smell here, wherever he actually was. It was rotten and disgusting, burning at his nostrils and making his eyes water, he could barely take it. He tried to breathe through his mouth as he finally found his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants. Thank fuck for Target menswear designers.

He didn’t know what to do or whom to call. His dad would’ve been the obvious choice, so would’ve Derek, but they’d both been worrying way too much lately, besides after years of getting into trouble, he already had a go-to ass saver, so he did what any dumbass teenager who’d gotten himself into trouble would do - he called his best friend.

He begged Scott to help and not to call his dad. He didn’t want him to go through this, he didn’t deserve having to constantly deal with Stiles. And the whole thing with Cora, Derek deserved to rest for a few hours. There Stiles was again, putting everyone else first. He just wanted to get away from wherever he was, and he wanted only Scott to help, even though Scott sounded just as stressed as Stiles and didn’t know if he could do this.

The signal was flickering like a flashlight low on batteries. He knew any moment the call could end and he’d be cut off from Scott. His phone was on the verge of dying, too, so he decided to turn it off and call Scott again later.

It looked like a basement, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He tried to make his eyes adjust to the light, or lack thereof, but he still couldn’t make out where he was. It sure seemed like a basement, but not one of a house. It was kind of industrial and bigger. It was cold, too, he was freezing. All he knew is he needed to call Scott again in hopes that he’d find him before his phone died. And that he hadn’t called his dad.

He was shaking and it wasn’t just the cold. He was terrified out of his mind. He didn’t know where he was, He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, when he could get out, or even if. He was in a strange place, in a new situation, and, if that wasn’t enough to drive him insane with fear, he was pretty sure there was someone there with him.

* * *

Derek woke up to someone climbing up the stairs, but refused to keep his eyes open long enough to see if it was the Sheriff. The sun hadn’t risen yet, judging by the blue light of the moon wrapping around the shadows of Stiles’ bedroom, so they still had a decent couple of hours before Stiles would have to get up for school. He let his eyes flutter shut with a sigh, but they shot back open when he heard the “Oh,” of a woman’s voice.

“Lydia?” he asked, seeing the redhead standing in the doorway with a smirking Jackaline behind her, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you?” Jackaline asked with a cocky smile.

“There’s no time for this, where is Stiles?” Lydia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“What do you mean? He’s right-“ there was no heartbeat behind him. He hadn’t even noticed. He spent a week looking for his uncle and the world’s creepiest family heirloom, spending nights in motels, unable to sleep because he was used to hearing Stiles’ heartbeat next to him, and now he’d slept through it disappearing? “Where is Stiles?”

“That’s what we wanted to know,” Jackaline walked around Lydia and into the room as her eyes caught the wall behind Derek, “What the hell is that?”

Derek turned to see the view he had either missed or ignored a few hours ago when they’d returned from Deaton’s office. It was covered with photos and scribbles on little post-its, A Beautiful Mind style, with red yarn strings pulled and meeting in a knot that Stiles had managed to keep in place by tying them to a pair of scissors and punching them through his mattress.

“He didn’t try and stab you, did he?” Jackaline asked, as Derek got up to put some more clothes on than just Stiles’ sweatpants. He really needed to get some of his own stuff over here, so he wouldn’t keep giving Stiles ideas with how tight his sweatpants were on Derek.

“Not that I know of,” Derek cleared his throat and tried to stay calm, turning on the light and looking around for a note and checking his phone for a text, just in case. Nothing.

He grabbed his jeans and t-shirt from the back of Stiles’ desk chair and turned towards the corner of the room to change. He heard Jackaline turn away to give him some privacy, then her hitting Lydia to urge her to do the same, a scoff following from the redhead as she obliged and turned to face the door she’d just walked in through.

He heard Scott’s bike pull up into the driveway before either of the girls did, hurrying up to get himself dressed before Scott could barge in here to find Derek half-naked with two teenage girls. Not that sleeping in a bed with a teenage boy was any better. But that was a problem for another time. He finished buckling his belt just as Scott had finished climbing the stairs and ran into the room with Isaac behind him, asking “How did you know? Did he call you, too?”

“He called you?” Derek asked in disbelief, surely Stiles would’ve tried Derek first.

“I heard it,” Lydia said.

“I felt it,” Jackaline sighed as Scott hugged her.

“I was here already,” he admitted when Isaac and Scott turned to him expectantly, then both turned into a smirk, “Seriously? He’s missing, figure out your priorities.”

“Right, we’ll make fun of true love later, what the fuck is that?” Isaac asked, looking at the creepy art installation Stiles had left behind.

“He uses red for unsolved cases,” Derek sighed, resting against Stiles’ desk with crossed arms.

“Maybe he thinks he’s a part of an unsolved case,” Jackaline supplied.

“Or is an unsolved case,” Isaac said absently, looking over everything on the wall.

“When did he do that?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t there when we went to sleep. I think I would’ve noticed sleeping on a pair of scissors,” Derek said.

“How did he do this without waking you up?” Lydia asked.

“He couldn’t have,” Derek scoffed, getting up and walking over to pull at one of the strings, “Oh, come on,” he said as they all looked at him in confusion, “The world’s most awkward person? Everything he does is loud, he’s the epitome of a mess.”

“He’s right,” Scott agreed, “Stiles doesn’t sleepwalk, never has.”

“Hold on,” Lydia said, “Is he still out there? You don’t know where he is either?”

“He said he’s in an industrial basement somewhere,” said Scott.

“Came here to get a better scent,” Isaac added.

“I have a pretty good sense of his smell,” Derek quirked an eyebrow and took his jacket to leave.

“What else did he say?” Lydia seemed deep in thought, as if calculating everything she’d found out. To be fair, Derek knew that Lydia was probably their best hope. If the girl could bring Peter back from the dead, there must not be much she couldn’t do.

“Something’s wrong with his leg, it-it’s bleeding,” Scott sounded almost desperate.

“And he’s freezing,” Isaac supplied. Derek knew Stiles hadn’t called Isaac, there was no way, so Scott must have filled him in while picking him up from Derek’s loft.

“Tonight’s the coldest night of the year,” Jackaline said, “it’s gonna drop to, like, 20,” nervousness audible in both her voice and heartbeat.

“And he’s losing blood,” Derek rubbed his face, to try and calm himself down. He knew Scott and Isaac were listening to his heartbeat, maybe even Jackaline, he still didn’t know just what she could do, he couldn’t lose control. He had to find Stiles.

“What did his dad say?” Lydia asked, voicing what was about to be Derek’s next question. The man must have still been at the station, so they couldn’t have been asleep for too long.

“We…” Scott sighed, “kinda didn’t tell him.”

“Excuse me?” Derek demanded, “Stiles is bleeding and freezing out there and you didn’t tell his dad?”

“You were sleeping in his bed and you didn’t wake up?” Scott’s voice was warning and dangerous, but true alpha or not, he couldn’t scare Derek. Not now that his boyfriend was God knows where, afraid and alone. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. And besides, he made me promise not to.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek whispered.

“We can find him by scent,” Scott was grasping at straws and they all knew it, “and, if he really was sleepwalking, he couldn’t have gotten far, right?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t notice his jeep’s gone,” Jackaline said from over the window she was looking out of to the driveway.

“You promised you wouldn’t call his dad,” Derek pulled out his phone, “I didn’t.”

“Derek, please, hold on,” Scott stopped him from dialling, “we can get more help, Allison, or…”

“Everyone except for the cops, great idea,” Lydia laughed with painful irony. Derek was starting to enjoy her company more and more, so far they seemed to agree on everything that has to do with Stiles. If it wasn’t for the fact that Stiles had been in love with her for most of his life, he would even consider befriending her.

“I’m on a good turf with his dad, I’m not losing that because you’re afraid of trouble. You do remember she only gets these feelings when someone’s about to die, right?” Derek reminded.

“You don’t have to call his dad,” Scott appealed, “It’s five minutes to the station.”

“You go on, I’ll catch up,” Lydia stammered.

“Wha-why?” Scott asked.

“There is something here,” Lydia insisted.

“Yeah, evidence of total insanity,” Isaac earned an angry look from Derek.

“We can figure out what’s happened to him after we find a way to stop him from freezing,” Scott said after a moment of hesitation.

“Go,” Derek ordered, “we’ll be right behind you,” he watched Scott look at Lydia for approval and then leave with Jackaline once she nodded.

“Do your magic, banshee girl,” Isaac squeezed her shoulder and left the room, Derek following after him, assuming whatever Lydia was about to do, required her to be alone.

“So, you and Stiles?” Isaac nagged, sitting on the couch in the dark living room.

“You and Allison?” Derek shot back, resting against the wall with crossed arms, failing to hear what Lydia was doing and hoping she doesn’t take too long.

“Didn’t know you’d noticed,” Isaac sounded impressed.

“I tend to notice when strangers spend the night in my apartment,” Derek rolled his eyes, noticing a blush creep up on Isaac’s cheeks, “Oh, look at that, didn’t know you could feel shame.”

“Hey, come on, man, unfair,” Isaac laughed, “I’m just joshing, dude, I’m happy for you two.”

“Did you mean it?” Derek asked after a moment, he really tried to fight himself and not say anything to seem like he actually had feelings, but he lost that battle. God, he hated being so human sometimes. He needed to know. He also needed sleep, which is probably why he couldn’t help but speak out against his better judgment.

“Mean what?” Isaac was still smiling, but it wasn’t mean, he was just smiling like a normal person would. Which was rare on him, since he usually looked like a smirking hyena.

“That thing you said upstairs,” Derek murmured, “about true love.”

“Oh, please, if anyone’s a model of true love, it’s you two,” Isaac snorted a laugh, and looked surprised when he saw Derek’s confusion. “You two have been dancing around each other for a year. Probably longer, I don’t fucking know, it’s been really annoying.”

“What?”

“You two deserve to be happy. And hey, if getting laid keeps him out of everyone’s ass and keeps you from being a grumpy prick, I’m all for it,” he snickered and looked up to Derek who refused to meet his eyes. “You have been getting laid, right?”

“None of your business,” Derek tried to sound dangerous, but either because it was Isaac, or because he was losing his touch, the teenager didn’t seem bothered.

“You haven’t done him yet?” Isaac asked in shock, a teasing, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“None of your business,” Derek repeated.

“I just assumed, since you were here, you know, in his bed,” Isaac said in defence.

“He’s underage,” Derek reminded, as if it wasn’t obvious enough.

“So? Who cares?” Isaac laughed.

“Oh, I don’t know, his father the police Sheriff?” Derek quirked an eyebrow.

“Apparently not, judging by the table set for three and your favorite beer, left on it, which, I’m assuming, you brought.”

“Alright, Sherlock, fuck off.”

“As important as I’m sure this conversation is, you may want to go get your boyfriend back right about now. I’ll stay a bit longer, but you two should go.”

“What do you got?” Derek asked, having no time to try and convince the girl to come along.

“Try the hospital,” Lydia nodded.

“Hey, Lydia,” Derek said before leaving the Stilinskis’ home, “try the strings.”

* * *

As Derek sped off towards the hospital, he received a call from Scott, informing them that Stiles’ jeep was found there and he answered with a simple “Okay, thanks, heading over there,” ashamed he’d forgotten to tell them what Lydia had discovered.

He dragged Isaac into the elevator and got off on every floor, just to try and find a whiff of him. Nothing. Or, at least nothing strong enough to indicate he was still there. Goddamn sterilised hospitals.

“I’ll go back down, get Scott?” Isaac offered when Derek said he should check the roof. They both knew Derek was getting desperate, but Isaac seemed to understand it, at least, enough not to make a snide remark.

He walked up the stairs from the highest floor, since the elevator didn’t go up to the roof, sneaking in after one of the doctors, who had an ID badge, giving himself a mental pat on the back for his swiftness, but when he actually got up to the roof, it was, as he expected, empty. No sign of Stiles anywhere in the building. It was getting colder. Even Derek started feeling his fingers going numb. Stiles – out there somewhere in nothing but pyjamas – did not sound like a comfortable or even a safe state to be in.

“Come on, baby, give me something,” he whispered, looking around and trying to make a deal with God.It was almost as bad as it had been with Cora. Maybe even the same. He couldn’t take so much of this shit, he couldn’t catch a break.

He’d tried to ignore it when it was Cora, telling himself she was strong and she’d be fine, but the second he found out what had happened to her, he’d felt guiltier than he ever had before. Guiltier than that time his family dog had ran away and Laura had taken the blame and the yelling, guiltier than the time he found Jackaline and Cora with a bottle of Absolut in their basement and never told another adult, guiltier than when Cora came back out of nowhere and he realised he hadn’t looked for her hard enough. This time he had a fair start and an actual chance of not fucking something up for once.

Every time he thought everything was fine, it all came down on him like an avalanche. He just wanted a few calm days, was that so much to ask? He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help, well, it didn’t help with calming him down, it did, however, give him a strong scent of Stiles.

He composed himself when he heard the door to the rooftop opening and two pairs of footsteps running towards him. “He’s not here,” he said, confirming what they all already knew to be true, “not anymore.”

“You mean the whole building?” Scott asked in disbelief, a hint of hope lodged in the back of his throat.

“Gone,” Derek said.

“I’ll tell Stilinski,” Isaac sighed.

“And see if you can find Allison, she’s not answering her phone,” Scott suggested. Derek didn’t turn around to watch the awkward tension between the two, but a few seconds later he heard one of them run back towards the stairs. Scott came up to stand next to him near the ledge, patting his back in a weirdly comforting, brotherly kind of way, as if letting him know they were in it together. Because they were.

“Notice how strong the scent is up here?” Derek asked, hating the pity he knew Scott felt for him, “You ever heard of chemo signals?” Scott just gave him a dumbstruck expression, so he went on to explain, “Chemical signals that communicate emotion. Just our sweat can give off anger, fear or disgust. Take a deep breath and tell me what you feel,” he instructed, waiting for Scott to oblige. He knew Scott had no idea what he was doing, but he also knew the kid was way too talented to not accidentally stumble upon it himself. He just needed a little push sometimes.

“Stress,” Scott said, surprised at himself.

“And anxiety,” Derek added, hating to admit it. He hated knowing that Stiles was afraid and alone somewhere. But one thing was for sure – he was not just here. He was _scared_ here.

“What was he doing up here?” Scott wondered.

“I don’t know,” Derek confessed, “but there was definitely some kind of struggle.”

“With who?” Scott looked lost again.

“Himself.”

“Jesus,” Scott sighed, “what now?”

“I’m going to the high school,” Derek announced and left Scott standing there without a chance to say he’ll come with. He really couldn’t handle someone else right now, not when there was a chance either of them could lose it any second.

* * *

It took him a solid ten minutes before he convinced himself to get down to the basement after what had happened there to Boyd not so long ago. He almost backed out about a dozen times, but couldn’t afford to, taking a deep breath and getting out of his car.

The night was getting colder, he didn’t know that was even possible. Every time he assumed Stiles could take it, he’s tough enough, the weather proved him wrong, making him more and more nervous by the second.

Second night in a row filled with worrying and despair. The internal struggle he’d sensed didn’t help either. It only meant that there was a bigger chance of Stiles really being as guilty in all of this as he’d been trying to convince Derek he was. Either way, Derek refused to believe it. He knew Stiles was scared. He might not have received a call from him, but he could smell it all over town. He just needed to get him back. And then maybe never sleep again, just to make sure Stiles doesn’t wonder off somewhere again. If watching his every step is what it would take to make sure he was safe, Derek would seriously consider doing it. As much of a stalker as that would make him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as soon as he’d taken a step off the stairs in the basement, and he let out a relieved breath, as if he’d been waiting for someone to stop him from going down there again.

‘STILS IS @ EIHEN HIUSE’ the text said. It was from an unknown number, so he assumed it was Lydia. The incorrect spelling aside, it was helpful in two different ways, so he ran back upstairs and to his car, to get to his boyfriend. ”I’m coming, Stiles,” he promised. Whatever it took.

* * *

“Sheriff,” he called out as he pulled up, noting Stiles’ dad talking to Lydia by the gate of the mental institution.

“Derek, you joining us?” his boyfriend’s dad looked at him fondly, slapping his shoulder with a sad smile.

“Let’s get him out of there,” he said determinedly and followed the Sheriff into the building, to ask the receptionist for access to all basement rooms in the facility. As soon as they had it, Lydia sprinted forward, everyone following suit, because they all knew she was the only way to him. And, hell, did Derek appreciate her yet again. “It’s here, it’s right here,” she announced as they’d reached a pretty terrifying door at the end of a pretty terrifying system of underground hallways.

“It won’t budge,” the Sheriff said with a shaky voice after trying to unlock it with the set of keys they’d been given.

“Let me,” Derek said and looked to Scott, who, thankfully, understood what he’d meant. They kicked the door open on first try and watched as the Sheriff’s flashlight illuminated a small part of the large, dust-covered room. It was industrial, it was a basement and it definitely was freezing.

Lydia’s calls of Stiles’ name went unanswered, Derek’s hope dissipating as they rummaged through the room, looking for the boy Derek already knew wasn’t there.

“Lydia?” Scott said, conveying what they were all thinking: well?

“I don’t get it,” she looked disappointed and terrified, just as Derek felt, “this has to be it.”

“Then where is he, huh?” the Sheriff asked quietly before turning around to face the girl, “Where is he? Where is he?” he yelled at her, making her flinch, but her lack of an answer was answer enough. No one could blame him. He was a good man, he didn’t mean anything by it. He just needed to compose himself, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Lydia whispered, letting Jackaline guide her back up the metal ladder in front of the door. Derek was too disappointed to wonder how their friendship came to be. Maybe everyone was closer in desperate times. Maybe Jack knew about her and Cora. Maybe she was just being nice.

They were just about to lose hope and leave, when Scott got a call from his mom, saying his dad was convinced he knew where Stiles really was.

Mr. Stilinski was on the phone with Agent McCall for less than a minute, but it felt like years. Everyone seemed to think they knew where the poor guy was, but no one could actually find him. “Follow me,” the Sheriff told Derek and got into his car without another word, Lydia and Cora taking the backseat without asking for permission. They had it anyway.

He hated this. He hated someone giving him hope just for it to disappear in an instant every time he got somewhere. Stiles wasn’t at the hospital, he wasn’t at the school and he wasn’t in the basement he had clearly described. Who’s to say he’d be in what appeared to be the middle of the forest. He screamed into his hands before getting out, slightly scaring the two girls, but he knew they understood. They definitely didn’t seem to mind much.

When they arrived, it only took a brief jog off the road for them to find Scott’s parents pulling Stiles out of what looked to be an old fox nest in a hollow tree trunk. He was screaming, and his heart was beating so hard Derek thought even those present who didn’t have supernatural hearing abilities could hear.

“Holy shit,” Derek rushed over as Stiles wouldn’t stop kicking and screaming at Scott’s mom. He managed to grab a hold of him and after yelling his name a few times, he finally calmed down, at least enough to understand who was holding him.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice was whispery and shaky and his skin was cold to the touch, but he turned around and wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, letting out a sob Derek was happy to hear, as much as he hated Stiles being upset. He was shaking, his skin was cold to the touch, so Derek tried to wrap around as much of his body as he could.

“You’re okay now,” Derek promised.

“I’m so scared,” Stiles admitted in a whisper no one else could hear, except maybe for Scott and Isaac, if they were listening in.

“You’re safe,” Derek said, but he didn’t quite believe himself. He just wanted Stiles to calm down.

“Come on, kiddo,” the Sheriff approached them, helping Stiles stand up, “let’s get you to a hospital,” he said, but Stiles was too weak and probably long from feeling his legs.

“I’ve got him,” Derek grabbed Stiles by the waist and let him rest most of his weight on the hand that was slung over his shoulder as he dragged him towards the ambulance that had just arrived, the doctors trying to take it from there, but Stiles refused to let go of Derek in the state of shock and terror he was still in. He was yelling for Derek to just please stay with him, as if Derek was ever leaving his side from now on.

“Hey, hey,” his dad snapped him back to reality, “we’ll be right in there with you, okay? I promise,” he said and Stiles looked at them both with a calculating look, like a feral animal, trying to decide whether he can trust the human offering him food, even though it couldn’t smell any poison on it.

“Okay,” Stiles obliged and let himself be wrapped in a foil blanket and get hooked up to a system.

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Derek said, trying to remain as close to the ambulance as he could, so that Stiles would see he wasn’t gone.

“You get in that ambulance and wait for me,” Mr. Stilinski ordered, “Got it, son?”

“Yes sir,” he hoped he’d answered quickly enough for the Sheriff not to notice how much Derek liked being called ‘son’ after such a long time, “I won’t leave his side for a second.”

“Good boy,” the Sheriff smiled and walked over to the other officers to give them further orders. Derek felt bad for the man. Every time something happened he had to go back and do paperwork, hoping and praying to every god out there that Stiles wasn’t being eaten by monsters he hadn't even know existed up until a couple of months ago. Derek was glad the poor guy could take the night off, even if it was because his son was in a hospital.

Derek took the moment of Stiles being distracted to hand Isaac the keys to his Camaro and tell him to check on Allison who’d been missing the whole night, not letting it go unmentioned that if anything happens to the car, he will personally hunt him down before Isaac has the chance to flee the country.

“How do you know I’d try to flee the country?” Isaac smirked.

“Because you’re three percent smarter than Peter. Now get out of here, you’ve got school in the morning.”

“Yes, dad,” Isaac grinned at the keys like they were treasure and went over to the car.

* * *

Stiles was knocked out cold before they’d even gotten to the hospital. They put a mask on him once they were there to rewarm his airways and Derek listened in as a doctor explained to Sheriff Stilinski that they were using salt water to get his circulation going, and they were going to wake him up soon to make him drink hot fluids. Derek didn’t like looking at the needles poking out of Stiles’ veins, nor did he enjoy looking at the ghostly grey skin of his face, but Stiles was wrapped in blankets and Derek hoped the temperature in the room was higher than in the hallway where he was sitting, so he looked forward to seeing that awkward blush only Stiles knew how to pull off soon enough.

A good while later the Sheriff came back out to tell them Stiles was just fine and sleeping again, but doesn’t remember much, since, apparently, it’s been like a dream to him.

“May I?” Derek asked after Stilinski had thanked Scott’s dad for figuring out where Stiles was, while simultaneously managing to tell him off. Derek admired that. And he really wanted to learn how to do that. Because his mother taught him to polite. But she also taught him to take no shit.

“Yeah, go ahead,” the Sheriff smiled kindly, and Derek didn’t waste another second, “Hey,” Stilinski called out, making him stop in his tracks and turn to face him like a trained animal, “don’t let him out of your sight for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” Derek nodded and went into the room. It really was much warmer than out in the hall, so much so, that he had to take his jacket off before sitting down on the chair next to Stiles’ bed.

Derek wasn’t used to seeing Stiles so calm and Still, and he realised he didn’t enjoy it one bit. Sure, the guy had gotten on his nerves for a long time, but maybe Isaac was right and they were just desperate for each other’s attention. Besides, every time Stiles was being annoying now, Derek found it thoroughly adorable.

He’d take Stiles ranting about why Team Cap was superior to Team Iron Man over the strange-looking ghoul boy sleeping in front of him any day.

“Hey,” Derek whispered, knowing Stiles was asleep, but hoping that in some magical way he could hear him nonetheless, “please don’t scare me like that,” he raked his fingers through Stiles’ dirt-filled hair, “I know you were much more scared than me, but…” he didn’t even know where he was going with this, he was too tired to think straight, “I was fucking terrified,” he said and rested his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder, staying there for a few minutes, before realising it made him sleepy and he couldn’t afford that right now.

Scott came in soon after to check if Stiles was okay and ended up staying for a while. “Do you think he was just sleepwalking? Or is there something more to it?” Scott asked, watching Stiles sleep.

“In this town there’s always something more,” Derek admitted, but kept Stiles’ worries about being in the center of all this to himself.

“Do you think it’s something like Jackaline?”

“You think whatever Jack’s brought over here is roaming the woods possessing skinny, defenceless teenagers?”

“He’s not defenseless anymore,” Scott said, and Derek knew he meant him being his personal werewolf bodyguard.

“This thing wants to possess someone and it chooses Stiles?”

“Happened once before, didn’t it?” Scott sounded guilty, as if his involvement with Jackaline made him an accomplice in what she’d done to Stiles.

“Why not take someone bigger? Stronger?” Derek shook his head. He had no problem helping their little supernatural scouts troupe deal with all the shit Beacon Hills constantly throws at them, but why did it have to be Stiles? “You know, someone with a little more…” his eyes trailed over the room, looking at the machine Stiles was plugged into, “power.”

“Lydia says she was sure,” Scott changed the subject.

“I’m sure she was,” Derek said. He didn’t blame the girl one bit, “Maybe she wasn’t really wrong, I mean the place she brought us to _did_ seem like what he’d described to you.”

“By the way, the only reason he didn’t call you was because he didn’t want you to worry,” Scott obviously felt the need to explain, which Derek was thankful for, “I think if it hadn’t been for the whole Cora thing last night, you would’ve been his first choice.”

“Doesn’t matter as long as he’s safe, right?” Derek looked down. He wanted to believe Scott. It did make sense, and it did sound like Stiles’ reasoning – putting others first. He just wanted to be Stiles’ go-to phone call. Didn’t matter if it’s going to Rosewood to follow a risky clue, or waking up in a cold basement with his foot being gnawed off. He wanted Stiles to call _him._

“Did he dream the leg thing?” Derek asked.

“I think so, yeah,” Scott said absently before his mom opened the door.

“Time to go, you’ve got school in less than six hours, I'm taking you, Lydia and Jackaline home on my break, come on,” she nodded for Scott to get up and follow her. He said a goodbye to Derek with a smile and walked over to the girls.

“You should get some sleep,” Melissa told Derek quietly once Scott was gone.

“Oh, no, I’m fine” he whispered, “Besides I have personal orders from the head of police himself not to let this dumbass out of my sight tonight.” Melissa laughed at that and squeezed his shoulder before turning to leave. Derek was really riding the fake parents wave tonight.

He stayed awake until the Sheriff returned, giving him an official pardon to go to sleep. Derek took the chair next to Stiles’ bed, resting his upper body on the mattress.

* * *

He woke up with a stiff neck and something cold resting on his upper back, but it wasn’t morning yet. Stiles was still sleeping when Derek tried to get up and stretch, but he had put his hand on the back of the Werewolf’s neck at some point during the night. He smiled and took the hand off, careful not to wake him, and put it back under the blanket to keep warm.

He heard two voices just outside the slightly ajar door, but the light in the room was off, so even if they were close, which he couldn’t check since his back was to the door, they most likely wouldn’t have seen him awake.

“It was the other day, I asked him some questions, just symptoms, and, uh,” the woman paused, Derek was pretty sure it was Melissa, “he…” she seemed be having trouble to get out whatever it was that she wanted to say.

“It’s okay,” the Sheriff’s voice assured. “I think, I, uh… I think I know what you’re talking about.” They were both whispering, but it sounded like screaming to Derek. He knew what she was talking about, too. He knew what had happened to Stiles’ mom, and he had hoped with his whole being that it wouldn’t be passed down to his boyfriend. “I’ve been writing these down for the past two weeks,” the Sheriff said.

Derek already knew what the symptoms were. He wasn’t an idiot, he’d done his research. He knew what could happen in great detail, he was just not going to let it. “I think we need to do some tests,” the Sheriff sounded close to breaking. Derek knew how he felt. He’d lost everything once. This time he knew a way out.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Stiles’ tired, mumbling voice cut through Derek’s thoughts. He turned to see Stiles lazy-eyed and smirking. Any other night, Derek would have given anything to see that look, but he was too worried to be turned on. They were going to do tests on him. They were going to tell him something was wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with him. Every single imperfection of his was perfect – that crooked smile of his, the tiny moles and birthmarks littered across his skin like constellations, his long, beautiful fingers that seemed to never be able to not fumble and drop everything. Derek didn’t want Stiles thinking there was a single thing wrong with him.

Why would anyone, or anything, want to possess this guy? There was nothing special about him. Well, Derek would disprove that in a heartbeat, but in universal terms, he was just ordinary. Sure, Jackaline had chosen him because she’d thought they were similar in some creepy, druidy way, but whatever it was floating around Beacon Hills now, was different. It seemed darker. Stiles was not the obvious choice.

“Why aren’t you?” Derek smiled and leaned forward to kiss Stiles’ forehead. “Still cold?”

“Less with you here,” Stiles snorted, knowing how much they both would find it corny. At least his sense of humor wasn’t damaged.

“Alright, sap,” Derek sat back down on his chair, trying to hide the smile, “go to sleep before I make you,” Derek whispered, leaning on Stiles’ bed.

“You don’t wanna go home and sleep without breaking your neck?” Stiles offered.

“I’ve been ordered to never leave your side again.”

“Oh, cool, a werewolf bodyguard, that’s pretty dope, actually,” Stiles shrugged.

“No canoodling ever again, Stilinski, it’s all business from now on,” Derek teased.

“Way less fun, but I’ll still have a pet werewolf.”

“You wish,” Derek scoffed, “go to bed.”

“At least get in here with me, I don’t wanna be responsible for you not being able to turn your head for a week,” Stiles sighed and shimmied himself and the mountain of blankets covering him to the left side of the bed, making space for Derek.

“Pretty sure that’s not allowed,” Derek argued, already climbing onto the bed and taking his shoes off, “if you get me arrested, I swear to God.”

“I’ll tell the doctor you’re a walking heater, just let me sleep in peace for one night, I’m very sad and vulnerable and you’re really pretty.”

“Well, who could say no to that extremely well-crafted argument? Scooch,” Derek ordered, slinging his arm around Stiles and burrying his face in the blanket pile, “If you wake up and I’m not here, don’t freak out, I’ll-“

“Be at Deaton’s, getting Cora, I remember,” Stiles said sleepily.

“I’m glad I’ve got you back,” Derek sighed and let sleep numb his body and mind, making him forget what Stiles would have to find out in the morning.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles whispered suddenly, disturbing him from starting to drift off.

“Hey, Stiles?” Derek whispered back, mimicking Stiles.

“What’s something that everyone has, but no one can lose?”

“Why?”

“Just,” Stiles thought for a second, “came to mind.”

“Sanity?” Derek offered in a hushed tone.

“No,” Stiles sighed, “no, I think I’ve lost mine.”

“Don’t say that,” Derek ordered, pulling the boy closer.

* * *

“Cora,” Derek let out a breath of relief when he walked into Deaton’s office, seeing his little sister sitting on the examination table, listening to Deaton telling her a story.

“Derek,” she laughed as the werewolf gathered her into his arms with a crushing hug, “I’m fine, hey, you’ll choke me.”

“Are you okay? How do you feel?” Derek looked her over, but nothing seemed to be off, she looked bright and normal, and even well rested, definitely much better than Stiles.

“I’m fine, just a bit disoriented,” she admitted unwillingly, “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, of course, come here,” Derek helped her hop off from the table and find her balance.

“She woke up not too long ago, you should get some food in her, I offered, but she was too polite to accept,” Deaton explained, walking them out as Cora trailed ahead to the Camaro outside with Isaac waiting for the two of them, checking his watch to see if his lunch break hadn’t ended yet. He smiled and hugged Cora upon seeing her, though.

“Will do, Doc, thank you so much.”

“Hey, Derek,” Deaton stopped Derek before he could leave, “how is Stiles?”

“Everyone knows about that, don’t they?”

“Small town, even smaller circle of supernatural beings.”

“Right,” Derek smiled politely, “he’s fine, they’re running some tests on him later today, I’m heading back there soon.” Derek neglected telling him what tests exactly. It wasn’t his place to say.

“Good,” Deaton smiled with the usual kindness the man seemed to always portray.

“Can you move any slower?” Isaac asked, from the backseat, apparently Cora had managed to kick him out of his shotgun, “I have a test in twelve minutes.”

“Calm down, you’ll be just in time to fail it,” Derek said, starting the car and pulling out of his parking spot.

“Can I go to school, too?” Cora asked.

“Your clothes are covered in your blood and you’re seriously dehydrated, you’re going home to eat, shower and maybe take a nap. For a week.”

“A week? I need to get back to school!”

“When you were little we couldn’t make you get to school no matter what we tried, where’s the fire?” Derek asked, fearing the answer.

“In Lydia’s pants,” Isaac teased, leaning forward with his head between the two siblings and earning a swift knuckle to the forehead from Cora.

“I just want good grades, asshat,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Funny,” Derek snickered.

“I hate you both,” Cora rolled her eyes.

“Somehow that doesn’t convince me,” Derek sighed and stopped to let Isaac get out, noticing Scott get on his bike and rolling his window down to talk to him. “Skipping class?”

“Going over to see Stiles,” Scott explained, “How are you, Cora?” he squinted, the midday sun blinding the hypersensitive wolf.

“I’m okay, handsome,” Cora winked. Derek was glad Cora wasn’t dating the guy, he was too vanilla for her, and if there was one thing he knew about his sister, it’s that she liked a challenge way too much to go for the jock star. Plus, Derek would probably have to beat him up.

“See you there, McCall,” Derek cut the conversation short to drive Cora home.

He made sure Cora had everything, even ordered some takeout and left her cash to pay for it, checked if the loft was completely secure before hesitantly leaving the place. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but she seemed to be getting through it better than Stiles was, as she hummed merrily and put on Netflix on the TV. Derek hated choosing between them both, but he didn’t have time to feel bad about prioritising one of them over the other, when he was busy just constantly worrying about them in general.

* * *

“I’m not sure I know how to pronounce this, or if it’s not actually a misspelling,” the doctor said to the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall while flipping through a notepad of Stiles and his mom’s medical history. Stiles was wearing one of those blue hospital gowns, that always made Derek uneasy, and sitting on the MRI machine, waiting for the process to start. Or, probably, for the whole thing to be over. Derek hadn’t been here when they’d broken the news to him about their suspicions, but he was sure the look on his face couldn’t have been much different than the one he was sporting now, looking guilty for having to put his dad through it, and scared for what the results would tell him.

Scott was listening to the doctor, but standing next to Stiles, watching his best friend damn near losing his mind. Derek just took it upon himself to not say a thing and rub his hand over Stiles’ thigh, trying his best to be soothing.

“Just call him Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski said before the doctor turned to him.

“Okay, Stiles,” he said, grabbing their attention and making Derek let go of his leg and take a step backwards, “just to warn you, you’re going to hear a lot of noise during the MRI. It’s due to pulses of electricity going through the metal coils inside the machine,” he explained. Derek already knew all of this. He’d read about it, watched Youtube videos on it, Derek was probably more prepared than Stiles. If that was ever even possible.

Stiles looked up at Derek, searching for his eyes to calm him down as the doctor offered him earplugs or headphones, and, in all fairness, Derek needed Stiles to calm him, too, “Uh, no,” he looked back to the doctor and scratched his temple, “no, I don’t need anything.”

“Hey,” the Sheriff said, taking his son’s attention, “we’re just on the other side of that window, okay?”

“Good,” Stiles gave him a tight smile, which his father mimicked, but they both disappeared as soon as the Sheriff turned around to leave the room, Stiles’ hand fondly patting his father’s shoulder, like his dad needed more support through this than Stiles did. And, honestly, maybe he did.

“You know what they’re looking for, right?” Stiles said to the two werewolves remaining next to him, his voice was deep and tired, making him sound much older than he was.

Scott watched Stiles’ face, almost searching for an answer, but Stiles turned to Derek instead. He understood, “It’s called frontotemporal dementia,” Derek explained, “areas of your brain start to…” he couldn’t find the right word, or maybe he just didn’t want to finish.

“Shrink,” Stiles finished for him, “It’s what my mother had,” he looked down to his fingers, “it’s the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers. And there’s no cure.”

Scott was looking down, refusing to meet their eyes, Derek’s hand had returned to Stiles’ thigh. Scott looked like he was trying to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Derek felt like he’d do anything in the world to stop it from killing Stiles.

“Stiles…” Scott sighed, looking up at him, but Stiles just shook his head and pulled his best friend into a hug.

“It’s all good,” Stiles promised, looking at Derek over his shoulder. He looked tired and sad, and, of course, he was, after all the shit storms that had come and gone over them.

Scott backed out of the room with a snuffle, letting Derek come closer to his boyfriend and take his face into his hands, even though he wouldn’t look up at him, “Stiles, you and Cora are the only thing I’ve cared about since the fire. If you have it,” Derek said quietly, “we’ll do something,” he promised, but Stiles just closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from crying, “Stiles,” Derek insisted in a whisper, and the look he received when Stiles finally met his eyes was heartbreaking, “I’ll do something,” he looked over his shoulder to see of Scott was out of the room, “whatever it takes, got it?”

Stiles watched him, trying to figure out of it really was what he’d meant. Derek knew Peter had offered, he’d punched his uncle himself after he found out, but he hoped that if it came from Derek, it would have been more meaningful. Apparently it was, as Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, letting a sob out that he’d tried his best to keep inside, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” It wasn’t a goodbye, Derek was sure of it, although it felt like one, it was just weakness. Stiles will be fine either way. Derek will fix it if it comes to it. Right now was just about remaining calm and keeping Stiles calm. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

They both knew everyone closest to Stiles was watching them with trained curiosity, but Derek had no intention of letting go before Stiles would let him. No intention of showing him any less affection in one the most difficult moments in his life than the walking, talking, annoying little ray of sunshine deserved.

“You know that stuff you told me about chemo signals earlier?” Scott started when they were sitting outside in the hall as per the doctor’s request.

Derek knew it would take up to an hour, but he had anticipated being right behind the glass to…he didn’t even know. In case Stiles needed him? What would he need him for?

His head was buried in his hands as he listened to the teenage wolf. “It reminded me of the time you were teaching me to use anger to control the shift.”

Derek lifted his head with a smirk, “I think you ended up teaching me more about that.”

Scott smiled for a second, looking down the hall, “You’re teaching me again?”

“Think of it more like…sharing a few trade secrets,” Derek sat back in his chair. He liked teaching the young little puppies how to manage all of this. Plus, teaching Scott was like training for teaching Stiles, if it ever came to it. “You know how I left to find Peter and bring him back where I can keep an eye on him, right?”

“Still kinda wary that I haven’t seen him back here.”

“Don’t worry, I know where he is at all times,” Derek snickered, “anyway, he wasn’t the only reason I left. I needed to talk to my mother.”

“Your…dead mother,” Scott said, looking as if he’d tried to avoid stepping on the landmine, bet failed.

“She told me something that changed my perspective,” Derek sighed, “on a lot of things,” his eyes unwillingly slipped over to the door behind which Stiles was lying and listening to hammers hit against metal all around him. “She said my family didn’t just live in Beacon Hills – they protected it.” He looked back at Scott, “This town needs someone to protect it. Someone like you.”

Scott’s head shot up, watching Derek with confusion. It must have been a shocker. Derek knew they all looked up to him, at least to some extent, but he knew he didn’t want to stay in this town forever. Not when it still hurt him and Cora so much. And he knew Stiles didn’t want to live there until he’s old and wrinkled up. So Derek wanted to take him away, show him the world, let him chose where they went, be it settling down in a big city with career opportunities or constantly moving, never staying in the same place for too long. Either way, he wanted a family, he wanted no supernatural bullshit to deal with, and he wanted Stiles.

“And I need someone like you to teach me a few trade secrets,” Scott looked lost. It was a lot of responsibility and Derek did feel like he was just piling onto the poor guy, but he’d been thinking about it for a while now and, really, who better than a True Alpha?

Derek smiled and Scott mimicked it before his face turned cold with revelation, “He was trying to protect us,” Scott stood up. Oh, God, he was right. Derek should have realised it before. “Stiles was protecting us.”

“From himself,” Derek understood, too. He was relieved and more terrified than ever all at once. Stiles probably wasn’t even sick, he’d be just fine, as long as they figure out how to fix whatever was fucking with his head. “Roof.”

“Roof,” Scott agreed, already rushing towards the staircase, stopping by the nurses’ station on his way to ask one of his mother’s co-workers for a keycard.

“What are we looking for?” Derek asked once the cold air hit him when the door opened, just a few steps behind Scott.

“Not sure,” he yelled back, “but Stiles wasn’t just up here struggling with himself, I think he was struggling not to do something,” he explained as they both wandered aimlessly around the roof in an almost comical rush, seeing that they had no idea what they were doing.

Scott stood on top of a slightly elevated vent to reach up to the top of a closed-off section of the roof. Derek watched as he pulled down a white duffle bag filled to the brim with tools, chords and industrial shit Derek didn’t even know Stiles knew how to find. Stiles was going to do something bad. Cut something important, they just had no clue what. That is, until Scott looked up and saw a cable. Partially cut with sparkles jumping out of it in a most unnerving way.

They took a few steps back, right in time to avoid contact when it exploded, shooting sparks in every direction before the cable broke out of its plastic frame, dancing in the air like a rabid snake, shooting light and electricity every which way.

“Stiles,” Derek remembered, heading back for the door and down the stairs, hearing Scott follow him.

* * *

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut in the loud machine, trying to avoid the panic attack he knew was coming. He just wanted to sit up and look at his father, or even Melissa would do, but he knew he couldn’t move an inch and he didn’t want to mess the whole thing up and have to start over.

He tried to breathe through it, letting another tear roll down his cheek. _Damn it, Stilinski, grow a pair._

The room seemed almost blurry when he opened his eyes back up, but not like he had trouble seeing, more like he was in a haze, a state somewhere between consciousness and death. A dream.

The thing was there again. The silver-toothed mummy thing, dressed in a worn-out army jacket, with the dog tags still around his neck, demanding what everyone has, but no one can lose. He’d seen it before, he’d just forgotten it completely. How could someone forget such a thing?

He refused to look at it when it started unwrapping its bandages. He was sure his heart was beating loud enough for Scott and Derek to hear. Why wasn’t anyone helping him? He refused to answer the question, even when he knew the answer, even when the thing threatened his family, even when he turned around to find…himself.

In a blink of a second Stiles wasn’t Stiles anymore. He could see everything happening, he just couldn’t control a thing. He couldn’t tell himself where to go or what to say, he tried to beg for help, or to find his father, but his legs carried him forward as people surged out of the hospital in panic he knew he’d probably been responsible for.

He looked at the people running towards and past him to get out of the building, and then he turned around when he heard the elevator door opening with a ding. He wanted to follow the people. He didn’t want to head towards the elevator. He wanted a Goddamn exorcism, not a lunatic in a teacher’s disguise, beckoning for him to approach her.

“Oh, you’ll do just fine,” Jennifer Blake grinned, but her eyes remained unsmiling. She didn’t just look evil, she looked insane.

“However did you manage to do this?” he felt himself asking, but he wasn’t doing it. He wasn’t in control. He was watching as the car drove down a cliff, tied to the passenger seat and every time he screamed it was muted. He was mutinied from his own body.

“A perfect weapon.”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s a child in love with a Hale.”

He watched his English teacher and felt his body express surprise he didn’t experience. He was angry. Furious. Motherfucking enraged. Because this wasn’t about him, it was about Derek. And he’ll be damned before he let anything hurt Derek.

* * *

Derek didn’t understand where the minutes between them being on the rooftop and them standing outside the building went. All he remembered was the Sheriff saying Stiles was missing again and Jackaline putting out the cable that had exploded and caused a circuit failure throughout the hospital. He didn’t even remember her getting here, or an equally misplaced Isaac, now lying in a puddle and not breathing.

He shook himself out of it. Just another night. He was exhausted from this becoming a routine, but he had to make sure Isaac was fine, he had to call Cora, and he had to find Stiles. He had to tell the Sheriff Stiles wasn’t sick, but how do you tell someone their son is possessed?

Over the next two days Cora took over as the head of the household, visiting Isaac in the hospital, making meals and bringing Derek coffee whenever he was on what she called detective mode, which was basically every second of him being awake. He’d taken the walkie-talkie Stiles kept hidden in his closet to listen in on police business, he’d raided Stiles room, he’d driven around town for hours, looking for sketchy enough places that Stiles could be in – his jeep was pretty large and easy enough to find, as long as it was missing along with him, Derek had hope of finding him through that.

It wasn’t that he thought he’d never seen Stiles again. He was sure he’d show up at some point. He just didn’t want to imagine Stiles in a grimy, dingy middle of nowhere, scared out of his mind and completely alone again.

“Is that a bat?” Cora asked, showing up out of nowhere and startling Derek just the lightest bit, though he’d never admit it, and pointing to the entrance to their loft where a bat was casually resting up against the wall.

“It’s Stiles’ bat,” he shrugged. “How is he?” Derek asked since Cora had showed up late. Her classes had ended hours ago, so the only place she could have been was the hospital.

“They wouldn’t let anyone in, Allison was asleep on a bench outside his room,” she said, taking her jacket off and throwing it onto the sofa, “so naturally Scott’s mom let us in with a keycard.”

“Conscious?” Derek looked up from the desk he’d been staring at for hours to see his little sister looking sadly to the ground.

“He’s not healing, Derek.”

“What?” he whipped around, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “I was thinking of taking Jackaline there tomorrow, maybe see if she can do something about it. God knows what her powers actually are.”

“Good, that might work,” he turned back to the desk.

“Also,” she said hesitantly, “Lydia did some digging,” her cheeks colored pink as she mentioned the girl, making Derek raise an eyebrow, “and she’s pretty sure whatever is living inside Stiles is called a Nogitsune.”

“And I’m guessing you trust that opinion,” Derek smirked.

“Yes, I do,” Cora sighed, “she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. And prettiest,” she added with a smile.

“If only mom could see us now,” Derek scoffed.

“She wasn’t homophobic,” Cora sounded confused.

“No, but that book club friend of hers, Suzan, was, and mom hated that bitch,” Derek reminded, making Cora laugh.

“Two gay children. That would have been one hell of a kick in the tits.”

Derek snickered, taking a few steps forward to hug his little sister. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, you big jerk, I’m sorta glad I wasn’t here before, watching you two for just a few weeks was painful enough.”

“Oh, we’re being a smartass, are we? In that case, maybe be careful around Jack with all of this Lydia stuff.”

“What do you mean?” Cora tried, and failed, to fake confusion.

“Don’t even,” Derek rolled his eyes, “you’re not blind.”

“I’ve been avoiding that subject for years, maybe being dysfunctional and never talking about anything is what brought the Hales to their knees,” Cora sighed. “You know, Stiles put all of his investigations up on the wall. Maybe try that,” she let go of him and headed for the stairs, “I’m gonna take a bath.”

Derek smiled to himself as she walked up the stairs and listened to the water running before turning back to the investigation that, compared to Stiles’ usual ones, was nothing short of embarrassing. “Put it up on the wall,” he sighed, “and now I’m talking to myself. Damn it, Stiles, stop disappearing.”

* * *

Derek woke up to a knock at his door. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the middle of the night, but seeing how little Derek had slept, he wanted to give himself a good 5 hours before launching back into his one-man search party.

‘What?” he practically whined before eve checking who it was and opening the door.

“Oh,” Lydia’s eyes slipped lower and over Derek’s body, making him very aware of just how shirtless he was, “sorry,” she said absently, her eyes still trailing Derek’s body. She didn’t look sorry at all.

“And that’s enough of that,” Cora said from behind him, taking Lydia by the hand and dragging her into the apartment, “Derek, put a shirt on, please.”

“What’s going on? This better not be a booty call, I really don’t want to be at home when that’s happening.”

“Funny,” Cora said, showing Lydia to the couch and throwing a sweater, that Derek had left at the desk earlier, into his face, “Jack, Allison and Scott should be here soon, too,” she announced, bringing Lydia a cup of tea and ignoring her brother completely.

“Why?” Derek’s brain was still fuzzy from lack of sleep as he shoved the sweatshirt over his head and went to get himself some coffee.

“Because there might be something that could help us in here,” Lydia said and Derek turned to see her holding Allison’s Bestiary, “I borrowed it a few days ago and I think I might have made progress.”

“And that was worth coming all the way across town in the middle of the night?” Derek yawned.

“Are you saying Stiles isn’t worth it?” Lydia teased.

“I’m not afraid to punch a girl, red,” he warned. There hadn’t been a moment in the last two days when he hadn’t been thinking about Stiles. Even all of his dreams revolved around him, provided that he’d slept at all, since he hadn’t felt this amount of stress and anxiety for years.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she laughed, flipping through the book as Cora sat down next to her, pressing herself against the banshee like a cat. Is that how whipped Derek and Stiles looked from the outside? Wouldn’t surprise him, really.

He poured the hot water over the coffee grounds and sat at the table to wait for it to soak in, not feeling how he drifted off due to the lack of sleep until his head banged against the kitchen table, startling him awake. “You okay?” Scott asked, pouring himself a cup of water.

“When did you get here?” Derek felt phased again.

“Like a half an hour ago, Cora said to let you sleep,” he smiled and patted Derek’s back to get back to the girls, studying the Bestiary and a couple of other books Allison had brought from home, so Derek took his lukewarm coffee and chugged it before joining them.

“Apparently Nogitsunes are trickster spirits,” Lydia explained, “they can’t tell right from wrong.”

“So what? They just wreak havoc for the sake of it?” Scott asked.

“Not really. They’re mischievous. They don’t get caught up in right or wrong, because they don’t understand it.”

“So what exactly is its motivation here?” Derek narrowed his eyes, taking a seat on the floor next to Scott.

“It might be something else,” Lydia put the Bestiary down and pulled out one of Allison’s other books from the bottom of the pile, “apparently Nogitsunes can be very easily offended. And, if you offend one, it can react pretty badly.”

“How do you offend a Nogitsune?” Jackaline wondered.

“It says that it can be summoned, too,” Allison read, taking the book out of Lydia’s hands, “one can summon a Nogitsune, but it requires an incredible amount of power, and the Nogitsune will require a body.”

“Of the person who summoned it?” Jackaline leaned over to read the page.

“No,” Allison said, “a sacrifice.”

“Are you telling me we’re never getting Stiles back because some psycho figured Beacon Hills needed another supernatural piece of sh-“ Derek went into a rampage, but was stopped by Cora.

“Shut up,” she said, watching the ceiling, “Derek,” she whispered, “there’s someone in your room,” she warned and got up without a sound, climbing the stairs without a single screech the old metal usually gave out. Derek tried to stop her. He didn’t want her to get hurt, but he couldn’t get between her and his room without giving out that they’d heard the sound. Whoever was in is room would have heard as soon as he tried to say something.

“Cora, stop,” he whispered just as she opened the door to reveal a silhouette in the moon-lit room, the others piling up behind them to see what was happening. She didn’t wait before going in for the kill, only sopped by Derek grabbing her by the back of her shirt by instinct, once he’d realised who it was a second after he saw him.

“I know what you think,” Stiles said from the shadows, “but it’s really me, I swear.”

“How do we know that?” Cora tried to attack him again, and Derek was glad his hand was still grasping at the fabric of his little sister’s shirt.

“It’s me, Derek, I swear, it’s me,” Derek couldn’t hear a lie in his heartbeat, besides he looked so scared and worried that Derek couldn’t help but believe him. “I don’t know where I’ve been for the last two days or what I’ve been doing, but this is me, I promise,” he pleaded.

“You know what happened at the hospital?” Scott demanded, turning on the light to see if it was really Stiles.

“I know more than that,” Stiles took his backpack off of Derek’s bed and pulled out a roll of paper, “see this?” he unfolded the large piece of paper, “It’s a blueprint of the hospital’s electrical wiring, you see all these markings in red? That’s my handwriting,” he said as Derek squatted down to see better. “I know I did this, I caused the accident,” he explained and Derek could feel him looking only at him, as if proving to him what they’d talked about and Derek had refused to believe. “Everything in this bag, it’s all stuff that could be part of something bigger,” he said, turning it upside down and spilling its contents all over the floor.

Jackaline and Cora rummaged through the things splattered on the floor as Allison, Lydia and Scott watched him in disbelief. Derek knew no one wanted to believe Stiles was guilty. Even the fact that he was coming forward was reason enough to consider him innocent.

“What the hell have you been up to?” Cora asked, showing Jackaline the other pieces of blueprints Stiles had collected into the bag.

“I think something worse,” he confessed, “a lot worse.”

“Okay, everyone out,” Derek said, finally speaking for the first time through this whole fiasco. They didn’t need much convincing, though Derek knew they wouldn’t go far. Not that it mattered, because Stiles was right in front of him yet again. Stiles had found his way to Derek even though he’d looked for two days straight.

“Are you gonna yell at me for disappearing?” Stiles looked so disappointed in himself Derek wanted to cry.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay,” he explained, sitting him down on the edge of his bed and stuffing all of the tools and other incriminating evidence that could be used against Stiles back into the backpack and under his bed, “take your clothes off.”

“Really?” Stiles winked.

“Yeah,” Derek smiled all lazy-eyed, “because they stink and I need to check for bruises,” he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, goody two shoes,” Stiles obliged and took his jacket and flannel shirt off, handing it to Derek.

“T-shirt, too,” he demanded and threw the clothes in the hamper in the corner of his room. Stiles hesitated, but took it off nonetheless, left sitting in jeans and avoiding eye contact. Derek tried his best not to gush over the surprisingly fit frame of his boyfriend, keeping his eyes on any dark spots on his skin, rather than his body itself and how much he wanted to touch and kiss every inch of it.

“Having fun there?” Stiles asked in a whisper, snapping Derek out of the haze he’d landed himself in and making him realise he’d been breathing a little too hard and getting a little too handsy.

“Sorry,” Derek cleared his throat and stood up from the kneeling position in front of Stiles he’d taken, “we, uh, should probably get you home, right?”

“What’s one more night?” Stiles stood up, too, and walked closer to Derek, “stop freaking out, I’m taking a shower and I think we both need sleep,” he stepped into Derek’s arms without a warning.

“Stiles, your dad is going out of his mind,” Derek sighed into Stiles’ hair.

“I know,” Stiles groaned, “I hate when you’re right.”

“It’s my best and most annoying quality,” Derek shrugged, handing Stiles a long-sleeved shirt to wear.

“All of your best qualities are your most annoying qualities,” Stiles put on the piece of clothing Derek knew smelled like him, which Stiles would appreciate, and grabbed the backpack from under his bed.

“And that’s coming from you,” Derek pretended to be hurt, “that’s a low blow.”

“So is disappearing for two days, I guess, so let’s go,” Stiles smiled and opened the door, waiting for Derek to follow him into the dark hallway. Thank God the rest of the teenage jackasses had dispersed and weren’t listening in. At least not obviously. “Well?” Stiles held out his hand for Derek to take, “come on.”

“Where are you two off to?” Cora asked, getting a blanket for Lydia and Jackaline from the other side of the couch.

“Bringing Stiles home,” Derek furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how this wasn’t obvious enough.

“Yeah, right,” Scott rolled his eyes and sat Stiles on a chair they’d taken from the kitchen table, “we need to figure out all of this,” he said calmly, obviously trying not to scare or offend Stiles.

“As soon as possible,” Allison added, handing Stiles a mug filled with something steaming hot.

“Stiles’ dad is going insane worrying about his only son and you can’t wait a few hours to let the guy sleep in his own bed for once?”

“Stiles,” Lydia started, ignoring Derek completely, “there is something inside you that we need to get out.”

“Are you about to perform an exorcism on me?” Stiles smirked, not worried about his friends hurting him at all.

“If we have to,” Jackaline reminded of her powers with a mischievous grin, wiping an almost identical one off Stiles’ face.

“Jesus,” Derek rubbed his temples, teenagers had a generally annoying effect on Derek already. Add the supernatural to that, and you’ve got a pissed-off werewolf with a headache, “fine, but can we make it quick?”

“We obviously can’t promise that, bring us up on your investigation,” demanded Cora.

“I didn’t investigate the Nogitsune, I was looking for Stiles,” Derek pointed out.

“Can I borrow your laptop?” Stiles asked and Derek nodded absent-mindedly while continuing the PG-as-possible argument with his little sister.

“What were you planning on doing with this shit, build a terminator?” Scott asked, rummaging through the backpack Stiles had brought.

“Funny,” he murmured back, typing away on Derek’s laptop.

“What are you doing?” Derek finally asked, leaning over to look at the screen.

“Seeing if there have been any other strange sightings or accidents in the last few months in California,” Stiles didn’t even take his eyes off the screen, but for the first time Derek saw, in the ominous glow of the computer screen, how worn-out Stiles actually looked. With the blue circles under his eyes almost turning red to match his bloodshot orbs. He looked terrible and dangerous and for a moment Derek caught himself wondering if it was possible this wasn’t actually Stiles. But he shook it off. He knew Stiles. After such a long time of pretending to hate him, and even telling himself that he did, he knew him pretty fucking well. “Or if anyone’s been possessed by a riddle-telling mummy piece of shit.”

“And you’re googling all this?” Derek snorted a laugh.

“The world’s full of supernatural creatures, one of them is bound to be stupid enough to start a blog,” Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, making Derek laugh with how idiotic the idea was, but how logical Stiles made it sound. Derek kissed his cheek before going to the kitchen to get them all something to eat.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Allison told Scott who gave her an ‘I know, right?’ look.

“This is a map,” Scott identified suddenly, still digging through the clutter in Stiles’ backpack.

“Isn’t that the cross-country trail?” Lydia asked, dragging her manicured finger across the line marked in red pen.

“So?” Cora asked, coming up behind her to take a look.

“So Stiles has instructions in here on how to disable a bear trap,” Scott dug out another piece of paper, explaining how to get out of a steel trap.

“Shit,” Scott’s voice traveled across to the kitchen and Derek didn’t even have to turn to know how guilty Stiles looked and felt, “we have to go now.”

“Hold on,” Derek ordered as they all started fumbling around for their jackets and shoes, making them stop in their tracks, “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll go with you,” Stiles announced, closing the laptop and standing up. “And don’t even start,” he warned as Derek opened his mouth to argue, “I did this, I’m fixing it.”

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it,” Derek said and tossed Cora his car keys so she could take everyone home. He really needed to stop acting like the pack football mom, constantly worrying about 6 supernatural teenagers’ safety. Worrying about Stiles was justified since the guy’s only line of defence was sarcasm, but the others could handle themselves well enough, even Cora whom Derek will never stop worrying about.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles pointed out.

* * *

“Stop,” Derek blocked Stiles’ body with his hand when they were about halfway through the trail coach usually used for P.E. before it got too cold. They’d been walking for about half an hour and the crispy midnight air was doing its best to keep the two of them awake, but even that was starting to fail. Derek bent down to pick up an end of a chain, covered in the autumn leaves, telling Stiles to stand still as he followed along, only to find the other end with nothing attached to it.

“So there’s nothing here?” Stiles sounded stumped. Derek felt the same way, as he heard the leaves crouch beneath his boyfriend’s feet. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. Or that the other Stiles did.”

“I’m not sure you should be,” Derek said carefully, looking at the ground with his fancy wolf vision, as Stiles loved to refer to it.

“You don’t think it was a false alarm?” Stiles asked, standing still once again and waiting for Derek to do his thing, “Or am I standing on it? Oh, God, Derek, am I standing on it?”

“You’re not standing on it, Stiles,” he said, making him relax, “but do hold as still as you can just in case.”

“You’re killing me, man,” Stiles tensed back up as Derek snickered.

“Look,” Derek pointed to the ground, but Stiles just looked around without noticing anything, so Derek pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on, “Look,” he repeated, pointing to the string pulled across the path. “Get behind that tree,” Derek instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles obliged with terror lacing his voice, watching the werewolf pull out a pocketknife and lay on the ground before cutting it. A whooshing sound rang through and they both let out breaths they hadn’t realised they were holding.

“Which way did it go?” Derek asked, uncovering his head from the idiotically counterproductive shield made of his arms, but, hey, that had made sense in the moment, and getting up to follow the direction to which Stiles was pointing, again, using his heightened senses to find what he assumed would be an arrow. By the time he’d found what they were looking for, Stiles had approached him and was standing behind him, looking guilty yet again, which Derek hated oh so much.

“Here’s to hoping this is the only one,” Derek said, cringing at the way his voice sounded as if he was asking Stiles, almost on the verge of blaming him.

“I don’t know,” Stiles looked around, trying to figure out if he’d done more of this, but obviously not being able to remember, “I just,” he trailed off with a sigh, “I don’t know, Derek.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” the werewolf promised, taking a hold of Stiles shoulder. It felt so nice to be just a foot away from him again. It felt right. He hated being this addicted to another person, but he loved that it was Stiles. He loved Stiles.

“Derek?” Stiles looked worried having seen the look of realisation dawning on his boyfriend’s face. “What is it, Derek?”

He’d never actually thought about how much he felt for the human, but it sure made sense that he was in love with him. God, he loved him so much it was honestly insane. Should he tell him? Now? It definitely would make him feel better, less worried about Derek hating him for something taking over his body and leaving him out of control.

“Your dad still doesn’t know you’re back,” he said instead, kissing his forehead for a long moment and turning around to walk back to the car. “You tired?” Derek asked as he heard Stiles’ footsteps on the dry leaves.

“If this is your way of asking if you can stay over, there’s no way I’m ever sleeping alone again.”

“Last time you and I shared your bed, I woke up next to a pair of scissors and you were gone. And the next night, when we also coincidentally shred a bed, you were gone the next day. For two days, might I add.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles announced, swaying so that he’d be walking closer to Derek, “I think I’m too exhausted to do something shitty anyway, even if I am possessed.”

Just when Derek thought he could see the road through the trees, a dim light travelled across it, stopping next to what Derek was sure was Stiles’ car and then going out. He tried to squint to better see what it was, but he couldn’t quite make it out. A few steps later they noticed a breathless Scott running towards them.

“There’s been an explosion,” he yelled, mostly for Stiles’ sake, since Derek could hear him either way, “at the Sheriff’s station.”

“What?” Stiles yelled, picking up his pace, ready to bolt to his car.

“Your dad’s fine,” Scott hastily explained, “mom said he was one of the lucky ones.”

“Did anyone die?” Stiles asked. Derek heard the anxiety tremble his voice, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t terrified himself. Stiles, be it the Nogitsune or whatever else is living inside of him, might have killed someone, and he’d never forgive himself for it.

Scott looked at Derek, reluctant to answer, but then nodded.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed, turning away from the two of them and taking a few steps with his fingers buried in his hair. Derek was about to start a monologue about how none of this was Stiles’ fault, but the human managed to beat him to it by continuing, “You were about to take me to the station, if we hadn’t come here, right?” Stiles’ voice was quiet and somber, knowing something that the two wolves in front of him didn’t.

“I guess, why?” Derek didn’t understand.

Stiles breathed out a long exhale from his nose, watching Derek, calculating whether or not to say what he was obviously about to say, “I think I might be trying to kill you.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott asked as Derek watched Stiles’ face go serene and relaxed, a calm smirk playing on his lips. It’s a face Derek would have thought to love seeing. But it was the most terrifying thing he’d experienced since he watched his family burn alive.

“That’s enough of that,” Stiles stretched his neck out, cracking his spine in the process. “Thought you might have wanted to say goodbye, but alright, waste your precious time as you want.”

“Derek,” Scott warned, having reacted quicker than Derek himself who was unwilling to accept what was happening right in front of him, “Get out of here, now!” he yelled, jumping Stiles and tumbling him to the ground, with a loud grunt from both parties, as Derek let his survival instincts take over and ran to his car, stopping when a dark silhouette showed up in his way, swiftly avoiding him and running over to where Stiles, or the shell of him, had almost gotten out of Scott’s hold when the man Derek couldn’t recognise in the dark rushed over to them and injected Stiles with something. Derek ran back over to them, pulling away the body leering over his boyfriend and dropping the man to the side. He knew Stiles needed to be stopped, but he was not about to let someone kill him on the spot.

“Deaton?” his fists unballed from where they had held onto the man’s jacket collar, leaping up and offering him a hand. “What was that?” he asked as the vet took his arm and got up, “A cure?”

“The fox is poisoned,” he explained, looking down where Stiles’ numb body was plastered over the mud and leaves, looking so innocent and sinister at the same time that Derek was having trouble thinking straight, “but it’s not dead. Yet.”

* * *

“I still think it’s a horrible idea,” Derek sighed, sitting down on the Stilinskis’ couch, accepting a mug of tea that the Sheriff was offering him.

“Tell me about it,” the older man sat down next to him. They hadn’t exactly had a problem finding a conversation topic the night Mr. Stilinski had invited him over for dinner, so he just assumed that the silence that was banging so loudly against his skull was more nervousness than awkwardness.

“Did you try talking him out of it?” Derek hoped, pleaded for this to be avoided.

“Son, you know I can’t get him to do anything I want,” he explained, making Derek sigh in frustration. How could Stiles not see that this was potentially disastrous? “Besides, once he gets something into that stubborn head of his, not much can change his mind, especially when he thinks he’s saving everyone.”

“Is that why I’m here?” Derek raised an eyebrow, “To talk him out of it?”

Stilinski thought about it for a second, “Not really,” his boyfriend’s father sighed before getting up to put a jacket on, “you’re here as my emotional support,” he smiled sadly, but it still warmed Derek up immensely. Just the sentiment of Stiles’ dad doing his best to make Derek feel welcomed into their tiny family was more than Derek could ever ask for.

“I think that’s everything,” Stiles announced, descending the stairs with a duffle bag gripped slightly too firmly in his hand. He noticed Derek, but didn’t look surprised. Derek was sure Stiles had no idea he’d be here, but him not being surprised was somehow comforting. They did seem to be inseparable. It must have been getting annoying to everyone else by now.

“Let’s go, kid,” the Sheriff guided his son out the door and into his car, nodding for Derek to follow them.

“Are you sure about this?” Derek asked once they got out of their cars, looking over the ominous gate and the old, dingy building behind it, Eichen House written in proud letters on the rusting metal of the gate, making Derek feel sick to his stomach, “I can’t help you if you’re in there.”

“And I can’t hurt you,” he reminded. Derek hated this. Not the situation, although it was pretty fucking terrible. He hated the look on Stiles’ face – the guilt, the restlessness, the red eyes and the shame he obviously felt about himself.

“Everyone’s trying to figure this out. Deaton, Argent…” he trailed off, grasping at straws. He did not think Stiles was going to be safe in there. He did not trust that place one bit. Places like these had driven Jackaline into being a short-term magical maniac. If Stiles went insane, he’d feel about as much guilt as Stiles currently did about everything the Nogitsune had done in his name. “We can figure this out.”

“And what if you can’t?” Stiles looked more exhausted than angry or annoyed about everyone telling him the same thing, “Never let me get out of there. That’s what.”

“Don’t say that,” Derek felt almost offended. How dare he think Derek wouldn’t be heartbroken and destroyed if that happened? That he would never stop looking for a way to get the fox out of him, even if it means letting Stiles kill him, if that’s really what it was after.

“I…” he Stiles sighed, “I’m sorry, I...” he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, having difficulty saying what Derek was sure Stiles assumed was a goodbye.

“Come here,” Derek hugged him, looking straight at the Sheriff over his boyfriend’s shoulder and seeing the man look nearly as terrible as his son. Stiles surely felt as bad as he humanly could about making his father this worried about him. He was also sure Stiles was doing this, thinking it would set his father’s mind at ease. “Seventy-two hours. Not a minute longer, understood?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said after a few seconds of hesitation. He did not sound convincing, “Be good,” Stiles reminded as he let go of Derek and opened the gate, walking in with his dad without looking back at him.

* * *

“Is he in the looney bin?” Cora asked the second Derek opened the door to their apartment. She was sitting in the dark, reading a book from a pile on the floor. Definitely Lydia’s doing.

“Don’t call it that,” he sighed, toeing his shoes off and going straight for the stairs, not in the mood to talk at the moment. Not that he was ever in the mood to talk to anyone. Even during the phone calls to Stiles at the beginning he’d had trouble being sociable, but he’d pushed through, and he was happy that he’d done that. But the less time he got to spend with the human, and it was getting lesser by the day, he felt himself slipping back into his old asshole ways.

He plopped himself onto his bed and slept for the first time in days, waking up, when it was dark again, only to find out he’d slept for 30 hours straight. God he hoped Stiles hadn’t had trouble sleeping for once. He thought it funny that a week ago he couldn’t fall asleep without Stiles by his side, but was now hoping that they were both sleeping better apart.

But something had startled him awake. Something quiet, but just loud enough. He sat up to look around his bedroom just in time for his phone to buzz again. He found it in his jacket pocket and pulled the tiny arrow across the screen just in time to answer. “Doc?” he greeted, taking the phone away from his ear and squinting his eyes at the brightness of his screen to check the time. It was nearly 3AM, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, if I woke you,” Deaton apologised, "but we have a couple of problems,” he warned.

“Alright?” Derek nudged, taking a seat on the end of his bed, seeing Cora show up in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and wearing one of their dad’s old tee-shirts as pyjamas, so he put his phone on speaker.

“First, what I injected Stiles with is not a cure. It’ll wear off in a matter of days, it’s a temporary solution.”

“But while it does work, he should be fine enough on his own, right?” Derek hoped.

“I hope,” Deaton didn’t sound too worried, the again, he never really did. “Eichen House has an unusual history. It might not be that safe for the Nogitsune, or whatever it was that summoned it there, as well.”

“Okay, what else?” he asked, looking over to Cora who looked confused and worried, too.

“Argent gave me some of his contacts in Japan, but no one can find the materials necessary to exorcise a Nogitsune.”

“What would those be?” Derek asked, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper from his desk.

“A Shugendo Scroll.”

“What’s that?” Cora asked, joining the conversation rather than observing it.

“The Shugendo were the ascetic mystics of Japan,” Deaton explained, “They wrote scrolls, filling them with centuries of knowledge on the supernatural.”

“Like you and Jackaline?” Cora asked.

“Sort of, yes,” Deaton agreed.

“So we just find that scroll?” Derek didn’t like the hopeful feeling he got in his gut.

“Exactly,” Deaton agreed, “but it might not be that simple.”

“Why?” Derek asked, dreading whatever was the answer.

“Because, although I did find the last person to have purchased it, I do not believe it should be this simple.”

“Who?” Cora and Derek asked at the same time.

“A woman named Jennifer Blake.”

Time went still. Cora’s gaze slipping to Derek and turning into a blame parade seemed like an eternity, but once she was focused on him, Derek felt like he was going to throw up. All that guilt that he knew Stiles had been feeling or the last few weeks, he felt it now. All at once. And it made him sick. Fraternising with the enemy had never sounded so disgusting. He was fucking doomed.

“Jesus Christ,” Cora rolled her eyes and turned to stare out the window.

“Thanks, Doc,” Derek sighed and hung up. Stiles had been right. But, at least Derek could sleep soundly knowing his boyfriend wasn’t consciously a murderous, chaos-loving little shit. If he ever fell asleep again.

“What are you gonna do?” she asked.

“Hunt her down and rip her limb from limb before she gets the chance to hurt someone else I love,” Derek felt heat building up in his body, his nails pressing little half-moons into his palms that healed instantly.

“Derek,” Cora grabbed his forearm as he attempted to pass her with more force than he would have expected, “think this over, moron,” she shoved him back into the room. “If you go over there right now, you might never come back. If she can summon a fucking Nogitsune, I’m pretty sure you won’t be the one doing the limb pulling.”

“I can at least try something instead of waiting for the next time Stiles is put in danger.”

“What good are you gonna do him when you’re dead, huh?”

“I can’t let her go after people I love one by one. What if you’re next? I’ll never forgive myself for that!” he yelled, shutting her up.

The silence was louder than usual as Cora stared at him in shock. As if she’d never realised that she was actually cared about and loved. Everyone knew they were a pair of the most badass siblings in town, but whenever someone expressed any sympathy and admiration for either of them, they shut it down, unable to comprehend or accept the fact that they deserved it. Derek had learned to live with being cared for. Cora still had yet to understand it.

“Derek, I will be fine,” she insisted.

“You never know-“

“He’s human,” Cora reminded, “weak and puny, and you need to take care of him, because God knows Scott won’t be next to him forever to pull him out of trouble with his big, annoying, loving heart,” she added an eye-roll to emphasise her point.

“He’s not weak,” Derek sighed, sitting back on the edge of his bed, “he’s being braver than I would be in this situation.”

“And what would you be doing, if I may ask?” Cora crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the doorway, looking curious and possibly a little worried.

“Probably end it, get it over with, and keep everyone else out of danger.”

“You’re talking about suicide in order to keep other people safe, and calling yourself weak?” Cora huffed, “Think about that for two minutes and tell me you don’t wanna walk into the ocean.”

Derek surprised himself by laughing at that, nodding to himself, “Go to sleep, Hale,” he ordered.

“Don’t go to Jennifer’s, Hale,” she cocked an eyebrow and walked back to her own bedroom.

Derek knew she was right. He was being reckless and impulsive without Stiles thinking for him. God, he couldn't bear imagining Stiles in some white-tiled room, surrounded by psychopaths and sociopaths, and who knows what else.

In reality, he knew from what Jackaline had told Cora that these institutions, at least the higher end ones that Jack had been in, weren’t as bad as movies made them out to seem. But he wasn’t risking Eichen House being one of the bad ones.

He couldn’t stand the possibility that Stiles had changed his mind and wanted to come home. If there was the slightest chance of making him feel better, Derek felt obligated to take it. It's almost 4AM. Your boyfriend is alone and terrified, not to mention guilty for literal murder.

What do you do?

Go.

* * *

They didn’t lock Stiles into his room the second night, and he was supposed to stay awake, which was starting to prove difficult, so he figured what better midnight activity to entertain himself with than the basement he was pretty sure he’d seen in the Nogitsune-infused fever dream during which he’d walked right into the woods and almost frozen himself to death.

Great idea. Just fantastic. What could go wrong?

At least the door being locked and the only key belonging to the head orderly, Bronski, was a good enough reason to postpone the definitely terrifying room under the haunted institution.

Stiles could feel his eyelids. People don’t become aware of their eyelids unless they’re tired out of their mind. Not exactly the sign of being completely awake. He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes and hoped that would work, at least temporarily, but it didn’t do much, despite the pills he’d already taken. No instructions on how many, so he took two, freaked out if maybe it had been too much and gotten tired a mere 20 minutes later. He missed caffeine already.

The only thing he could think to do was get into a cold shower, but freezing his ass off again just for the sake of the Nogitsune did not sound like a good idea at any point in time.

Didn’t matter. He needed to be awake. _Just stay awake, Stiles, you’ve pulled a dozen all-nighters after procrastinating studying for important exams, and you can’t stay awake when peoples’ lives are literally in question?_

There _was_ the hope that scheming to sneak into the staff quarters and steal the keys would create enough adrenaline in his blood to keep him conscious a while longer. Then again, a cold shower could do the same.

“Don’t be a pussy, Stilinski,” he told himself in the shower room mirror and splashed cold water onto his face. No. Nope, no, there was no chance of him getting under freezing cold water, if he couldn’t even handle a palm’s worth of it on one body part.

Bronski’s key it was, then.

* * *

“This guy has a key to everything,” he whispered to himself as he checked the hallway behind him for the fifth time. “Come on, come on, come on,” he repeated after trying every different little key, but none of them working. He was pretty sure he could hear his blood pumping through his veins, but it might have been the lack of sleep. Or maybe he was just actually going insane. He had known about werewolves for a good while. _About time to go looney_ , he smiled at the idea just as one of the keys fit into the lock and actually turned. He couldn’t believe his luck.

The room was cold and pitch black, but he walked in and closed the door behind himself, to shut out the possibility of anyone finding him, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The narrow window right below the ceiling being open was the first thing he noticed in the faint glow from the small, round glass tiles that sent moonlight into the room, making it look like a crew deck on a pirate ship. Why would the window be open in a room that no one can access? He wondered just as he saw a leg slide through it, another one following. Stiles panicked, hoping, wishing, praying that it wasn’t the Nogitsune coming after him – he really couldn’t take any of that shit right now.

He felt like crying when he’d gotten his thoughts together and managed to think up the masterful plan of hiding behind one of the huge water tanks. He’d spent all his brain juice on the whole ‘getting the key’ thing, he couldn’t afford to do much more thinking on energy-savings mode. He tried to breathe as silently as he could, but the grunt that followed the man landing on the opposite side of the room sounded far too familiar for Stiles to have imagined it.

He stood up from where he was crouching between the wall and the large metal tank and saw the man turn towards him. Stiles hadn’t made a sound. The man wasn’t human, he could hear Stiles’ body as it stood still, watching the man watching what Stiles assumed was nothing but the shadows. “Derek?” he whispered hopefully and felt a cliff’s worth of rucks leave his chest when the other man exhaled in relief. “Derek?” he asked again, having not received an answer, but knowing full well who it was, already walking towards him and straight into his arms, a sob escaping the moment their skin touched.

Derek didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to be said. He just pressed Stiles up against his chest and let him wallow in self-pity and despair, and everything else bottled up inside him that he hadn’t let himself release, for several silent minutes. “Stiles,” Derek nudged, trying to loosen their embrace, but Stiles refused to allow it, making Derek laugh. “Stiles, come on,” he guided Stiles towards the corner of the room where they kept a bunch of old furniture and boxes upon boxes of old files.

“Hey, wanna look at what they used to do in here?” Stiles suggested to distract Derek from the fact that he was wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He picked up a folder from the ground next to the box, “Oh, trepanation, that’s a bummer.”

“What have they done to you?” Derek asked, taking the papers away and examining Stiles’ face.

“Nothing,” Stiles promised, “I swear. They just-“

“Stiles you look horrible.”

“Thanks, handsome,” he snorted and sat back onto a couch that he hoped wasn’t infested with bed bugs.

“You look like a zombie, what’s up with that?” Stiles sensed that Derek was trying to be as patient and soft on Stiles as possible while feeling absolutely enraged inside.

“They told me not to go to sleep,” Stiles hung his head.

“Who did?” Derek asked, pulling on the hem of Stiles shirt to reveal what Stiles knew would be the red vines mapping his skin, “Jesus Christ, what is that? You’re expecting me to believe they haven’t dozed you with anything?”

“Yes! Because they haven’t!” he insisted, leaning out of Derek’s reach and rubbing at his skin where he had felt the tingly sensation slowly dissipating over the course of the day.

Derek looked like he’d just assaulted him, having put his hands up and not moving, watching Stiles like he was a rabid animal. It wasn’t that Derek was afraid of Stiles, it was the fact that Derek, and Stiles knew this very well, was constantly aware of their age difference and very careful about everything he’d done up until that very moment.

“Don’t do that,” Stiles sighed, “Not now.”

“Sorry,” Derek leaned back and looked down like a scolded dog.

“No, not that,” Stiles insisted on the close proximity, leaning in and resting his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t treat me as some sort of a child. I know what I’m doing.”

“I wasn’t-“

“You look like you’d just molested me,” Stiles sat straight and raised his eyebrows, “You know, we were talking about guilt today in one of those dumb group sesh things, and, if I’m constantly feeling guilty about, as you say, things that I ‘haven’t’ done,” yes, he used air quotes, “then you’re doing the same thing.”

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Derek explained.

“What, like touching the Nogitsune essence flowing through my blood that has come up to the surface all red and gross?”

“Is that what it is?” Derek looked alarmed.

“No!” Stiles laughed, turning his back to Derek and lifting his shirt to show him the red markings on his shoulder blades and spine. “Deaton’s sister said it’s called a Lichtenberg figure, or something. It appears on lightning strike victims.”

“What does it mean?” Derek’s fingers were grazing Stiles’ skin as carefully and barely-touching as possible.

“I don’t know, but she told me not to sleep. And gave me some meds.”

“Does it hurt?” Stiles felt a warm breath dancing on top of the already tingly patch of skin.

“No, It just tingles,” Stiles explained, turning his head to the left just in time to see Derek kiss his shoulder. “I think they’re slowly disappearing.”

“I’m guessing that’s bad?” Derek’s voice was much less calming than it had been a second ago. Stiles turned back to face Derek and let his shirt slip back down over his body. A movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Derek. “How long are you supposed to stay awake?” Derek’s tone was forcibly steadier now.

“I’m guessing until I fuck something up enough times for them to start killing me.”

“Who?”

“Deaton’s sister, Argent, probably. You, if it comes to it.”

“Stop that,” Derek whispered, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ cheek, “I’m not letting anyone kill you.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Stiles whispered and kissed Derek. He felt his boyfriend melt into it as he deepened the kiss, the complete opposite reaction to what Stiles had expected. Derek was the CEO of getting Stiles hot and bothered and then stopping it in its tracks. But this time Derek was just greedy and desperate as his hands grabbed at Stiles’ clothes and his fingers slipped under the fabric to meet the soft skin of his hips.

Derek didn’t want to stop. Somewhere deep down he was sure he was supposed to be the voice of reason. There was supposed to be something that stops him, but he couldn’t hear it. Werewolf hearing and he couldn’t get an audible protest out of his own brain. Everything around him, everything before and after this has been, is and will be Stiles. That’s all there is in the world. The taste of Stiles, the smell of Stiles, the rapid breathing and movement of Stiles. Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

Derek’s hands gripped at Stiles’ body firmly, a slight delicious roughness in his fingertips as Stiles felt the older man almost offering rather than pushing his body backwards, giving him space to back out, which Stiles found so thoughtful and he was thankful for the opportunity, but did not, for the life of him, want to use. He wanted Derek. On him, in him, near him, it didn’t matter. He’d take him in any form he could get, much like before he’d kissed him for the very first time and would take verbal-abuse-turned-flirting and eye-rolling over radio silence from him any day.

Derek was scared. It wasn’t being caught. It wasn’t doing something wrong. It wasn’t even hurting Stiles. It was the idea of experiencing this with someone that possibly loved him back just as much as he did. He’d never had that. He’d been in love, at least he’d thought so at the time. He’d been with women, and even some men, but this was a whole new territory. He was nervous, anxious and terrified, but there was no one else that he could ever imagine doing this with.

Stiles tried to control his heartbeat as Derek’s hands slid further down and across his thighs. This wasn’t the easy-going flirty attitude they’d fluttered over their previous kisses. This was heavy, messy, it pressed you down before it lifted you up and it felt so right. So precious. So incredibly overwhelming in the most beautiful way possible. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever felt this way about anything in his life. He trusted Derek completely in everything he did. He knew he was safe.

Derek tried to distract Stiles with his mouth as much as possible. He could remember how terrifying it had been to sleep with someone for the first time. It had been rushed and egoistic, the epitome of teenage hookups as the larger part of a noteworthy high school experience. Derek had hated that night in hindsight and he’d be damned if he made Stiles feel even close to something similar. He hoped their intimacy should come to aid instead of making either of them feel awkward or embarrassed.

Stiles didn’t let fear take over and make him freak out as it probably would have a few weeks ago. He had experienced real fear. Life-threatening, losing-loved-ones fear. This was not something he wanted to remember as a terrifying night. So he took a deep breath as Derek pulled down his trousers, taking his time to either excite and annoy Stiles, or make sure he was still okay with this. Knowing Derek, definitely some of both.

As far as sex went, Derek was no stranger to the topic. He’d been the fuckee and the fucker, and in either scenario, both parties usually left respectably satisfied. He would have stopped to ask which Stiles would prefer, but then he felt his long legs spread and wrap around Derek’s waist, pressing him down in an inviting gesture. Derek was amazed with how good Stiles was handling this so far. There were no red flags, ergo, Derek took it as a green light.

Stiles’ brain went into a blur. He’d lost the part where their clothes had gone flying to the floor, he’d lost the part where Derek had left little hickeys littered across his stomach alongside his birthmarks, but he wouldn’t let himself lose the sound of Derek moaning Stiles’ name into the crook of his neck as he moved in perfect rhythm not to hurt Stiles. It wasn’t exactly painful, he noticed, it did seem uncomfortable at times, but then Derek would do something that made Stiles gasp and dig his fingers into his boyfriend’s skin, leaving scratch marks that Stiles didn’t even have to look at to know they’d already healed.

It wasn’t long before satisfaction washed over them like a wave of white, hot, blissful pleasure, leaving them drifting away in what felt like a warm summer afternoon after the thunderstorm of the century, fear, anger and guilt washed away into passion, pleasure and comfort. It was simple. It was affection. It was so much love Derek didn’t even know what to do with himself, especially when Stiles wouldn’t let go of the tight grip on Derek’s torso, so Derek didn’t dare move, instead, laying on top of Stiles, careful not to crush him, fluttered little kisses on his skin and waited for him to come back down to earth.

“Are you okay?” Derek whispered.

“Tired,” Stiles acknowledged, making space for Derek to lay next to him instead of on top of him.

The second Derek was about to start panicking about maybe having done the wrong thing, coming on too strong, thinking that he should’ve stopped it again, Stiles unfolded Derek’s arm and curled into the warmth of his body.

“You’ll freeze,” Derek warned, knowing full well just how naked he was, as well.

“You mean again?” Stiles chuckled a hot breath onto Derek’s skin and ignored the comment, leaving Derek no other choice but to wrap his limbs around the human in order to keep him a comfortable temperature.

“Alright,” Stiles sighed, batting Derek’s arms away about two minutes later and sitting up, “not allowed to sleep, remember?”

“Right,” Derek chuckled in relief, already having managed to freak out again.

Stiles threw Derek’s clothes at him, getting back into his own with incredible speed, “Don’t want you to freeze, now do we?” he smirked and leaned down to kiss the dazed werewolf still sitting on the old, ratty couch. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he could see Stiles was worried about him regretting it, and here Derek was, fearing Stiles was doing the regretting.

Derek grabbed a hold of Stiles’ arm, one that he could easily wiggle out of, if necessary, “Are you okay?” he demanded, needing to hear it from Stiles’ mouth.

“Never better,” Stiles’ smile turned so calm and loving, “I promise,” he planted another kiss on Derek’s lips. “Please put clothes on before you get a rash from the couch,” he reminded and Derek jumped up as he imagined what nasty things lived in there.

“Good thing we just had sex on that,” Derek said in disgust, making Stiles throw back his head in laughter. Laughter was good, he thought to himself as he put his pants back on. God, he was glad. For obvious reasons, of course, but also because of how well they were both handling this. Like adults. He was proud of them – neither of them was good at this, he thought, noticing Stiles out of his sight when he’d buckled his belt. “Sti?”

“Over here,” his boyfriend called back from the other side of the room, Derek following the sound of Stiles’ voice as if it was his first nature.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, still holding his shirt in his hand.

“Stop distracting me with your abs,” Stiles ordered with a playful smile and turned back to the wall he had been facing.

“What is that?” Derek asked, pulling his shirt over his head, noticing a strange symbol carved into the paneling. Stiles knocked on it as an answer. It sounded hollow like a trap wall. Like it was hiding something behind it. “Try this,” Derek handed him a piece of broken-off piping he’d found on the floor. He was amazed for a moment at how few tries it took for Stiles to bash through the wall, even though he knew it would have taken himself even less. It didn’t matter. This was something Stiles needed to do on his own, and Derek knew that doing it for him would make him feel bad for always needing Derek’s help.

“Is that the Nogitsune?” Derek asked, trying not to marvel at how amazing Stiles looked out of breath and gripping a metal rod before throwing it away carelessly and attacking the wall with his bare hands to get through to the pile of wrappings and army clothes that looked exactly how Stiles had described them. “Stop!” Derek yelled a few times to get Stiles away and hopefully stop him from causing himself harm, “What are you doing?” Derek asked softly, having pulled Stiles away from the hole in the wall.

“Sorry,” Stiles shook himself out of the rage fit he’d been throwing and tapped Derek on the shoulder to let him know he was fine. “This is straight up nightmare fuel.”

“I can see why you wouldn’t want to go to sleep,” Derek sighed, squatting in front of the hole on the wall to look at the thing sitting on the floor, afraid to touch it or even look at it for too long, in case it woke up, “This is the thing that’s been talking to you?” he turned his head to face Stiles who was now standing further away, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

“This is the thing that lives in my head,” Stiles reminded as-a-matter-of-factly, “but yeah, he speaks to me. Makes me do things. Like kill you.”

“Is that why you’re trying to keep your distance?” Derek asked, standing up and walking towards his boyfriend with a smirk, “Because I think a few steps worth of distance won’t stop an ancient Japanese chaos demon from tearing me apart.”

“Why are you tempting fate?” Stiles whined, trying to put more distance between them, “I’m just trying to keep you safe, you big dumbass.”

“Try again,” Derek quirked an eyebrow, closing in on Stiles as he had nowhere else to back up to.

“Big, handsome dumbass?” Stiles offered, making Derek chuckle.

“We need to get you out of here,” Derek decided.

“No, I need to stay here, Derek,” Stiles managed to shimmy away from the small amount of space between the wall and the werewolf, rubbing his face and hiding a groan in his clasped palms.

“I know, I know, you’re saving the world, bur Stiles,” Derek was about to start feeling helpless, “staying in this place, forcing yourself to stay awake for days on end is not helping. It’s self-destruction. Literally.” Stiles looked up from his shoes through his eyebrows. “Don’t you dare argue about this with me.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Stiles looked deep in thought for a few seconds. “I saw this documentary about a thing called The Russian Sleep Experiment a while ago and that shit really freaked me out.”

“Exactly,” Derek pretended to know what Stiles was talking about, and made a mental note to google what that was later.

“Exactly, Stiles,” another voice agreed from the entrance to the basement. There was a figure on the stairs, watching them, merely a silhouette in the moonlight, but they each knew the voice just as well as the other.

This voice had moaned Derek’s name, had called out to him during long, dark, lonely nights. A damsel in distress that made him feel good about himself when saving, because then he didn’t have to think about why he’d wanted to protect Stiles so much. He refused to believe this was all just about Derek’s impromptu break-up with Jennifer. This had to be more than just spite, envy and bitterness. There simply had to be more to it than that.

“How did you get in here?” Stiles asked, knowing full well how difficult it was. Even Derek needed some self-convincing to actually get over the surprisingly highly-guarded fence and into the well-surveyed building.

Jennifer didn’t answer, instead walking over to Derek with something in her hand, but Derek couldn’t see what it was, and, as he panicked, Stiles stepped in-between them and faced Jennifer with his hand on Derek’s chest.

“Please, please, stop, please,” Stiles sounded out of breath, watching Jennifer like a foul animal, baring foaming teeth.

“This can all be avoided, if you just let me in, Stiles.”

They all turned to see the Nogitsune watching them quizzically, sitting on the ground, interest and annoyance both somehow portrayed in his posture. Derek couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. He was torn between checking whether Jennifer wasn’t about to stab Stiles and not being able to look away from the zombie army soldier that had moved out of his nest between walls and was now looking at him like meat.

“How…” Stiles began asking, his voice quiet and hoarse – the way it got when he was realising what was happening and was sad about it. Derek didn’t like that voice. That voice meant Stiles being the bigger person. The good guy. The human who always does the right thing, as long as it meant helping someone else.

“Stiles,” Derek warned, now unable to tear his eyes away from the boy.

“If we work together, your little pet over here will be just fine,” the Nogitsune sneered.

“What?” Jennifer snapped her head to the bandaged-up monster that had stood up and neared them, “That was not the plan.”

“I was never following a plan,” the Nogitsune roared, “I needed a body,” it grabbed the pipe Stiles had just used and handed it to the human, “I am going after chaos.”

Derek tried to stop stiles from following the monster out. Stiles wouldn’t even listen. He wouldn’t even react when Derek tried to grab his arm. When Stiles exited the room, he was the only one there. He was alone. Derek knew, in reality, Stiles wasn’t there anymore. It was just the Nogitsune.

* * *

“You lost the boy?” Peter’s voice didn’t fail to portray the same amount of annoyance as his face. “Can’t keep your mouth shot about the kid and you just let him walk out?”

“I’ve never talked to you about him,” Derek’s buried face in the comfortable darkness of his palms made his words sound muffled even to himself.

“You talk in your sleep, and you tied me to a chair while you slept and couldn’t watch me,” Peter reminded in mocking amusement. Derek remembered that fondly. He loved feeling in control of Peter. The man needed boundaries set around him everywhere he went.

“I had to get Jennifer. She’s a lead. And you weren’t there, you didn’t see him,” Derek rubbed his eyes, sitting on his couch, monitored by three other werewolves, a banshee, a witch and a hunter.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “I was too busy trying to assemble the star squad and get the sick puppy out of the hospital.

“You mean kidnap,” Allison corrected, looking over to the stairs where Isaac was presumably sleeping in his bedroom. Derek could smell Isaac the moment he entered the apartment. That had been a relief. He had not enjoyed worrying about the kid and not being able to keep an eye on him. This way, even if Isaac was still not exactly fine, or even awake yet, at least checking up on him would be less of an inconvenience. Oh, who was he kidding? He cared deeply for the kid. He loved him as much as he did the rest of his idiots. He was the pack dad and no one could deny that anymore. Least of all himself.

“Besides you seem to have forgotten molesting me into talking to your dead sister,” Lydia cocked an eyebrow with the meanest bitch face Derek had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“What did she tell you?” Derek smirked, trying to stay together and not cry at the thought of talking to her.

“Nothing,” Peter dismissed.

“Oh my God, you have a child?” Jackaline gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as soon as the words had left her mouth. She was looking at Peter as if he was crazy for having an offspring, like she wasn’t the one who had just read his mind. God, Derek wished he could do that sometimes, that would really come in handy with some of the people he saw on a daily basis – not Stiles, though, there was nothing that could stop him saying every thought that popped into his brain. Scott’s eyebrows knitted together as he and Jackaline shared a look of disbelief, hers still wide-eyed and utterly shocked, which landed on Peter a few seconds later, along with that of Derek.

“I don’t know who it is,” Peter sighed, “or _what_ , knowing my luck.” If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d think Peter was actually sorrowful for not knowing anything of his child. That is, if there really was a child and someone wasn’t playing a prank of some sorts on them. Scott, Jack and Cora exploded into a messy yell-fest of questions while Allison tried to calm them down, telling them that they didn’t, in fact, know who the child was, even though she’d been with Lydia at the time. Derek looked over to Lydia who seemed to pointedly avoid eye contact with everyone and anyone whose wandering gaze would reach her face. Not that any of them seemed eager to take their eyes off Peter, or aim their questions away from him. Months of no word from him, and the second they all meet him in the same room, boom, he has a fucking child.

“Coffee?” Derek offered Lydia quietly, stopping by her side for a second on his way to the kitchen. She followed almost instantly, after a moment of looking over the spectacle. She entered the smaller room and sat atop the kitchen table, waiting for Derek to finish pouring the hot liquid that smelled like Sunday mornings and teenage angst. “Who is Peter’s child?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia didn’t even try to conceal the lie in her voice, let alone her heart beat, “she never said,” her attempts at sounding more convincing were truly adorable.

“Lydia,” Derek tempted at the risk of sounding threatening, “tell me who my cousin is.”

Her sharp exhale was patronising in nature and Derek couldn’t help but smirk at that. She could deny all she wanted, but she knew who it was and she was about to tell him. He could see it in her eyes. “Your cousin,” she huffed. “Surely you realise who your own cousin is.”

“Lydia,” Derek felt less amused by the second.

“The girl who was always welcome in your family as one of your own,” she hinted slowly and quietly, at the risk of one of the arguing, hormone-enraged teens and the asshole wereuncle hearing her words. But Derek wasn’t paying attention to the others in the apartment. His face bore the same amount of shock his cousin’s had a mere five minutes ago, when she’d found out the bachelor, man-whore uncle of her childhood best friend had a child. Jackaline.

“She needs to know,” Derek whispered. Not that it mattered at the least, if the rest of the people in the apartment wanted to hear their conversation, they could listen in easily enough. The trick was to not let them notice.

“What if it destroys her?” Lydia wondered.

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“She didn’t like me,” Lydia took a sip of the coffee Derek had offered, “remember?”

“She wouldn’t be in love with her cousin anymore,” Derek pointed out.

“It’s a real Luke and Leia situation,” Lydia smiled.

Derek mulled it over for a second. They had to do something about this. Jackaline was stuck in a house with a man who hated her, thinking it was her father. A toxic relationship if Derek had ever heard of one. She didn’t deserve any of this, she was a good kid. What she did deserve, even if Peter had no intention to be a proper father, was to know the truth.

“Does Allison know?” He looked up from the spot on the wall he’d been having a staring contest with for a good two minutes now.

“No, no one knows.”

“Cora?”

“No one.”

“Tell you what,” Derek thought about it for another few seconds. Yeah, sounded legit. “You tell Cora, she’ll decide on how to break the news. I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” Derek instructed and Lydia agreed with a nod, “I’ll deal with Peter,” he said just as his uncle caught his eye from the living room. “In the meantime…”

“Let’s go deal with the bitch downstairs shall we?” Lydia’s smirk was back.

“Yes, please,” Peter said from the other room, partially excited, partially eager to get away from the questions before turning on his heal without another word and walking out of the apartment.

“Interrogation time?” Allison sighed in Scott’s direction. He smiled tightly in return. “I’ll stay with Isaac.”

“Best protection he could ever get,” Scott said before following Lydia and Cora out the door.

“Careful there,” Derek joked, having heard the short conversation, “don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Funny,” Scott punched Derek’s shoulder with a laugh.

* * *

They’d put Jennifer in their storage unit in the basement. The building wasn’t too densely populated and only a rare few of Derek’s neighbors used their storage spaces anyway. The ones who did, came down and found nothing behind the wooden stable door marked ‘HALE’. Jackaline had taken care of that. Derek had sedated Jennifer to get her out of Eichen House and across the town to his own apartment. He wasn’t an idiot. Going in to see Stiles without some form of tranquilizer had never been the plan, as much as he’d wanted to believe everything would end well.

They had waited for her to wake up alone, in the dark, extremities tied to a chair, no recollection of how she got there. She had it coming. She had everything coming. They’d been listening, of course, all of the ones who could. They’d been waiting, and Peter’s news had been a welcome distraction.

She was awake now, though. Surveying them. Almost calculating. Derek knew better than to talk first. Or talk at all, for that matter. She was to be feared, he was sure of that. He wasn’t going to take risks on the account of his own ego. This was not the time for pettiness. This was about finding the Nogitsune. If Jennifer could help with that – great. If she couldn’t, well, Derek could let her rot down here for all he cared. He’d been on the verge of falling for her. Thank fuck he had kept his distance. His taste in women was honest-to-God hopelessly shit.

He let Scott do the talking. He had more to say, and he was pissed. Peter joined in, to Derek’s surprise. The two of them did exude enough terror for the lot of them, but Jackaline couldn’t help but join in. And it was a good thing she did, because Jennifer looked genuinely terrified when swearing to them that she had no idea where the Nogitsune had taken Stiles. She could have been telling the truth, as her heart beat suggested she was, then again, Derek had no idea what the hell she was, so she could have just been a good liar. He knew they couldn’t keep her there until she actually died, but it didn’t hurt making her think so.

An hour later they gave up. Jennifer’s chest was heaving after whatever pain Jack had caused. Derek wasn’t sure, but, judging by the dark lines covering Jennifer’s neck, it couldn’t have been much different from what werewolves felt when they took someone else’s pain away. It didn’t exactly look like a picnic, but they couldn’t get anything out of her, so she could stay there for the time being. As the teenagers piled out of the relatively small space, Peter and Derek stayed behind. Derek wanted to know why she’d wanted him dead so much, and Peter probably just wanted to know anything he could get his hands on for later use as blackmail material. Well that and he was just an extremely, annoyingly curious piece of shit.

“So,” Derek closed the door after Scott who gently led Jackaline out last, “anything we might want to know?” Peter asked, talking a knife out of one of the cabinets Derek had salvaged from the house and hidden down here as to not overcrowd the apartment with things that sometimes made his eyes burn and him pretend he wasn’t sad, “Before Loverboy and I start doing something slightly more permanent that what the which had…”

Derek looked over to his uncle after he’d trailed off, still looking at the door that had just fallen closed. The older werewolf’s gaze slipped slowly over to his nephew as Derek saw recognition, revelation and dread flooding his eyes. Only when Peter was looking at him, did Derek realise he was mirroring the terrified expression on his uncle’s face, albeit probably not as pale. “Jackaline,” he said, “Jackaline?”

Derek nodded, he had no intention of lying. He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation in the first place, so this working out was a lucky turn of events. Who knew Peter could put two and two together? If only Derek had known earlier that Peter had slept with Jackaline’s mother. So much to unpack for one day, he really was about to have his brain fuming. “Where are you going?” Derek demanded when Peter started for the door.

“To kill Hexley.” Derek watched as he left the room. He knew there was a real possibility of Peter doing just that, but this was the man that had raised _his_ daughter and mistreated her for years. As far as Derek was concerned, Peter could do what he wanted to the Mayor of Beacon Hills, not that there was any stopping him.

“How dramatic,” Jennifer mused.

“More time alone for us,” Derek smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. Quite the contrary. He hoped he looked insanely angry. He knew the look worked for the most part, it had worked on Stiles for years, and he could shut his pack up within three seconds with that look. “Let’s try this again,” he grabbed a hold of the back of her head and tipped the chair so that it balanced on the two front legs. “Why don’t you tell me why you want me dead before I smash your pretty little face against the concrete floor?”

* * *

Derek waited for Deaton to finish reading. Scott had found a tiny scroll in Jennifer’s pocket after having tied her down in the basement. It was in hieroglyphs and neither of them had any idea what it said, but it looked Japanese enough to mean something, so Derek took Scott and went to see Deaton in person. It wasn’t a long drive anyway, so it didn’t matter too much, especially if it meant them having found a solution.

“There isn’t much here, unfortunately,” Deaton informed. That’s what they’d been afraid of, which Scott confirmed, by looking at Derek with a worrisome expression.

“Does it say anything?” Scott sounded hopeful.

“My Japanese isn’t great,” Deaton shrugged, making Derek huff in response. Derek’s Japanese didn’t exist at all, Deaton could read _and_ understand at least some of it. There was no place for modesty, this man was extraordinarily smart and unbelievably humble. “But it appears to say that one method of expelling the Nogitsune is to change the body of the host.”

Derek nodded, knowing what Scott meant when they shared another glance. They had feared it, but ultimately, Derek had been prepared for it. He would do it, if need be. And it would be him, and no one else. “We have to turn him.”

* * *

“What did Miss Blake say?” Scott asked as Derek drove the two of them back to his apartment. Cora had set up camp for them all to stay over. It wasn’t too difficult. Allison was staying in Isaac’s room, Lydia – in Cora’s. Derek had offered to let Scott and Jackaline share his own bedroom, but Jack refused, saying there was no way her father wouldn’t notice her gone the whole night, and Scott was too polite not to sleep on the couch.

“Miss Blake?” Derek snorted a laugh, pretending, at least to himself that he wasn’t thinking about Stiles’ body rejecting the bite, “She put a psycho Japanese murder spirit in your best friend and you’re still calling her Miss Blake?”

“I don’t feel like calling my English teacher Jennifer.”

“How about pompous bitch, then?” Derek suggested, making Scott actually laugh a little.

God, he hated the thought of having to change Stiles. He didn’t want him any other way, he loved the sarcastic, scrawny little shit, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault there was a Nogitsune inside him, he shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences. Nevertheless, Derek would not let anyone else’s teeth near him. Either they found another solution, and fast, or Derek would have to do the biting.

“He’ll make a great werewolf,” Scott said, obviously trying to make Derek feel better.

“He doesn’t want to be one,” Derek sighed, “we’d be forcing it on him.”

“You mean like I was forced to be one?” Scott snickered, “I love being a werewolf, you know.”

“I know you do,” Derek pulled into his parking space, “but you didn’t even know werewolves existed back then. Stiles has been offered and he refused.”

He paced across the small parking lot just outside his building with blood thumping in his veins. To say he was pissed would be the understatement of the century. He didn’t know what his next step should be, because he didn’t want to turn Stiles. He didn’t want any of this. For a good two seconds he actually wished he didn’t care so much about Stiles. Less worrying, less stress, more sleep, though he would definitely still be a fucking asshole. He liked not being rude and spiteful towards anyone he met, and that was entirely Stiles’ doing. He’d opened him up to being a better person. No one had been able to do that for six years. No one but Stiles. It was all Stiles. Always Stiles.

“Derek!” Scott said with a slight shove, making Derek shoot him a warning look. What was that thing about not being rude? “Dude, your phone.”

He hadn’t noticed his phone ringing, thumping into the building and brooding like a miserable old hag. Oh Lord, that’s what he’ll be in thirty years, if he doesn’t get Stiles back, isn’t it? “Sheriff,” Derek acknowledged, having picked up the phone, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

“No worries, Derek,” Stilinski said mundanely, “listen, son,” he continued after a long exhale, “you wouldn’t happen to know where Stiles is, right?” he asked. Damn it. Damn, shit, fuck, hell on wheels, no one had told the Sheriff that Stiles had escaped Eichen House. “Because apparently he just walked right out and he’s…I-I don’t…” he took another deep breath as Derek banged his head up against the staircase wall, making Scott physically pull him away, “I don’t know where he is. Again,” the man sounded broken, which Derek obviously understood. They were in the same boat – terrified, clueless and confused. They both just wanted to get Stiles back. And Stiles’ father had become important to Derek, too. It broke his heart, hearing his voice like that.

“We’re looking, sir,” Derek said reluctantly, hearing the pathetic pity in his own voice.

“Okay, good,” the older man on the other end of the line said, “Please tell me, if I can help in any way at all.”

“Will do, sir, I promise. We’ll update you on everything that’s happening,” Derek promised.

“Good,” the Sheriff acknowledged, “Thank you. There is one more thing,” he said and Derek was already turning on his heel to walk back to his car.

* * *

“A specialist I saw in L.A. told me the same thing every doctor says when they’re trying to avoid a lawsuit,” the Sheriff started, once Parish had let both Derek and Scott enter his office in the Sheriff’s station, “ _We can’t say for sure._ ” Of course, those pussies had no intention of ruining their pristine reputation for something unsolvable. “And then I spoke with Melissa,” Stilinski continued, pulling out a large envelope from his desk drawer and revealing its contents, “These are brain scans. My wife’s and Stiles’,” he said, handing them both to Derek, who placed one atop the other, making them line up perfectly, a perfect overlap of the same image. “I knew they were similar, but those are the same. Exactly the same.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t possible,” Derek looked up at the Sheriff through his eyebrows.

“Not even remotely,” his boyfriend’s father shook his head.

“Trickster’s still playing tricks,” Scott said absently, taking the scans from Derek’s hands.

“Why this trick?” Derek wondered out loud.

“When I was in the army,” the Sheriff started, Derek had had no idea Stilinski had been in the army, “an officer told me: if you want to defeat a man, you don’t take away their courage – you take away their hope.”

“You don’t seem like a man who gives up hope too easily,” Derek conceded.

“But Stiles might,” the fear in the Sheriff’s eyes grew as the volume of his voice sagged. Derek didn’t want to believe his words, but knew he was probably right. “This thing inside him, if it’s using his mother’s disease as some sort of a psychological trick, then this isn’t just a fight for his body,” he cognised, “it’s also a fight for his mind, right?”

“He’s dangerous,” Scott pointed out, “really, really, like, deadly dangerous.”

“That’s why I need you,” the Sheriff said, “I’ve contacted Argent, he’s agreed to help. Whatever gets him to not try and hunt my son down with a light saber. I need you to help me stop him.”

“Sir,” Derek said carefully, “what exactly do you mean by stop him?”

“Trap him,” Scott sighed, looking down.

The Sheriff nodded.

“Where’s Allison?” Derek asked.

“Went home to get changed,” Scott shrugged. Scott always knew where everyone was. Convenient.

“Call her,” Derek instructed Scott.

* * *

“This is everything non-lethal I could find,” Allison said, leading her father, Derek, Scott and the Sheriff into Argent’s study where she’d arranged a plethora or weapons, ropes, chains and canned fluids Derek didn’t want to know about.

“Take all of it,” Argent ordered.

“What’s our play?” Stilinski looked overwhelmed, which is exactly how Derek felt. What were they doing? Derek had no intention of using all of this hit, he just wanted his goddamn boyfriend back safe and sound.

“Well, our best shot right now is for Derek to try and pick up Stiles’ scent at Eichen House, especially if he went through something stressful there,” Argent sounded like a captain, giving orders. Derek liked it, he didn’t have to think in Stiles’ place while he was gone.

“Stressful,” Derek said absently, not having noticed himself muttering it, but everyone else did, looking to him in question. Now stressful isn’t exactly how Derek would call what happened there between the two of them, but it was definitely strong enough to follow. “Never mind,” Derek waved it away. “But we did this already. He disappeared, we started looking for him and walked right into a trap.”

“He’s getting us to repeat the same moves,” Argent agreed.

“So what do we do? Wait for him to come to us?” Allison asked.

“We can’t,” Derek reminded, “Not until Jennifer tells us what the hell she wanted in the first place.”

“Jackaline could work on her,” Scott suggested.

“We’re all trying to outfox the fox,” Argent realised.

“It’s not even doing what Jennifer wanted it to anymore,” Derek confessed.

“What do you mean?” Stilinski’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Jennifer wanted the Nogitsune to kill me,” Derek admitted, “but once it was out in the world and had a proper host, it changed its mind and went off on its own. God knows what its plan is now.”

“Listen,” the Sheriff said, looking at everyone but Derek, “I understand if anyone wants to back out.” He knew Derek wouldn’t. He looked like he knew Derek would go lengths he couldn’t imagine. He was never questioning Derek. This was about the people that didn’t keep Stiles as close. This was about the Argents. Both of whom looked eager to follow the plan.

“Dad, you, Derek and Scott head to Eichen House, Sheriff, it’s you and me in the hospital, we all meet back at the school,” Allison said simply and turned to leave the apartment, bag packed with whatever she might need.

“I like the girls in your pack,” Derek said to Scott, “they’re stronger than Isaac, you know,” he said, grabbing what was left on the desk.

“Stronger than you and me, probably, too,” Scott smiled as Argent opened a box he retrieved from the bookcase and pulled out and loaded a gun.

“Making sure you have a few lethal options, just in case?” Derek challenged, ready to punch the guy into unconsciousness.

“I like to prepare for the worst,” Argent ignored Derek’s obvious fury and left the room.

“He’s not actually gonna shoot him, right?” Scott watched the doorway where Argent had just walked out.

“I’m not giving him the chance.”

* * *

“Allison just sent me a text to meet up back in Stiles’ house,” Scott said from the backseat of Derek’s car.

“What?” Argent asked.

“Why?” Derek joined, as they were about two minutes away from Eichen House. Not that he wasn’t glad he wouldn’t have to return there. He was not eager to let Scott smell what they’d done there just a few hours ago. Argent wouldn’t let it go, either.

“Stiles was in the house,” Scott said.

“How do they know?” Argent asked, extending his hand for Scott’s phone.

“Sheriff’s got cameras in the house,” Scott shrugged.

“He's got what now?” Derek turned to face Scott for a second.

“Oh, that should be fun for you,” Argent smiled mockingly, reading the text. Derek didn’t want to take his eyes off the road, but it didn’t look like a long message. Good thing the drive was only about ten minutes.

Sheriff and Allison were waiting for them in Stiles’ room, standing next to his desk, looking at Stiles’ chess board. “What is all this?” Argent asked, as they approached the figurines topped with colorful pieces of paper, “What are the sticky notes for?”

“This is what Stiles wanted to use to try and explain to you about all of us,” Scott explained, looking at the Sheriff.

“Well, maybe it’s a message from Stiles,” Allison suggested, “the real Stiles,” she clarified.

“You guys think there’s any reason why my name’s on the king?” Derek asked, picking up a piece left lying on the side, wearing Isaac’s name on its head.

“It’s either because you’re important to him,” Stilinski supposed, “or because you’re heavily guarded. I guess the alarming detail is that you’re one move from being in checkmate.”

“That’s comforting,” Derek sighed.

“It’s not a message from Stiles,” Argent looked mournful as he realised what this was, “it’s a threat from the Nogitsune.”

“He’s still going after Derek?” Scott was watching the other werewolf with worry, “I thought he didn’t care about Jennifer’s plan anymore.”

“Two birds, one stone,” Derek grumbled, “chaos rises.”

“What if it’s not Derek?” Argent suggested, “What if it’s Hale?”

“As in my legacy? My family?” Derek’s eyebrows shot up.

“As in Talia’s legacy – you, Peter and Cora. Whichever order is fastest,” Argent explained.

“Cora’s at the loft with Lydia, trying to figure out if Jackaline can do anything about Isaac. It’s good protection,” Allison informed, “He’s at the loft. That’s what he’s trying to tell us.”

“And he wants us to come there,” Argent agreed.

“Jennifer’s in the basement,” Derek reminded, earning an ‘excuse me?’ look from the Sheriff, “I can explain,” he uttered to his boyfriend’s dad.

“Please do,” Sheriff’s eyes narrowed.

“She summoned an ancient Japanese chaos demon and let it take your son's body as a host, so I tied her up and put her in my basement,” Derek’s voice came out almost in a question.

The Sheriff thought about it for a few seconds, “I’ll allow it,” Stilinski's eyes narrowed.

“This couldn’t sound any more like a trap,” Argent scolded.

“I don’t think it is,” Stiles’ father shook his head, agreeing with the hunter.

“I think your opinion might be slightly biased, Sheriff,” Argent said.

“Hear me out,” Stilinski pleaded, “What we’re dealing with here is basically someone who lacks motive. No rhyme, no reason, right?”

“Assuming it isn’t actually going after the Hales first,” Allison half-agreed.

“Meaning what?” Argent asked.

“Our enemy is not a killer,” the Sheriff elaborated, “it’s a trickster. The killing is just a by-product.”

“Either way, I’m not letting my little sister stay alone when there _might_ be a Nogitsune after her head,” Derek reiterated, “I’m not too sure it won’t try and kill if it gets the opportunity.”

“It won’t,” the Sheriff promised, “it wants irony. It wants to play a trick. It wants a joke.”

“We need a new punch line,” Allison leaned up against the desk.

“Time’s running out, Sheriff,” Argent stated, “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

“I still don’t think letting him go in alone is a good idea,” Argent repeated after Stilinski had entered Derek’s apartment unarmed and empty-handed. Well, apart from the handcuffs.

“He’s his father,” Derek insisted, making the hunter roll his eyes and walk further away.

“You’re not sure about this either, are you?” Scott whispered.

“If it’s Stiles, Sheriff’s our best hope,” Derek tried to convince both Scott and himself of that, as he heard the handcuffs being put on and almost hoped they were in the clear. But then he heard the Sheriff say that it wasn’t his son standing in front of him. So Derek walked into his loft with a defeated sigh, followed by Scott and the Argents. Thank God he’d managed to tell Cora, Jack and Lydia to leave the apartment.

“Ah, the all-star team,” Stiles, or the Nogitsune, laughed before turning to Derek, “Hey, baby.”

“Shut up,” Derek almost stuttered, but it wasn’t his Stiles. He had to remember that. It wasn’t his boyfriend. His eyes didn’t look right. It was merely the shell of him. Stiles didn’t even have to look to Allison when she pointed a stun gun at him, to catch the wire in his hands, shaking as he let the electricity run through him, but maintaining the amused, show-off smirk Derek had come to hate so much. It wasn’t the smirk he’d fallen in love with. It was the wrong smirk.

So he and Scott charged at him with a growl, Derek doing his best not to stop himself, keeping eye contact to remind himself that this wasn’t actually the boy he loved. Stiles kicked Scott in his stomach, sending him down instantly, and ducked Derek’s arm, bending it backwards with so much force Derek couldn’t believe it came from the 150 pounds of pale skin and freckles. He didn’t notice how, but Stiles had gotten him completely locked as he smashed Derek’s face into his own desk and then threw him across the room into a brick wall.

“I didn’t teach you that,” Derek coughed as he tried to stand up, leaning on his elbow and hearing a gun cocking, only to look up and See Chris Argent pointing a gun at his boyfriend’s face with no emotion on his own.

That was motivation enough to get up.

“Argent, listen to me,” the Sheriff said, “don’t do this,” he begged as Stiles watched the two of them in amusement.

“Why not? I’ve done it before,” the hunter reminded, never taking his eyes off Stiles, “Werewolves, berserkers. I can easily add a Nogitsune to the list.”

Sheriff Stilinski raising his own gun at Argent just made Stiles look impressed, as if this was all just a spectacle for his benefit. “You’re not gonna shoot my son,” the Sheriff stated.

“You said it yourself, Sheriff,” Argent nudged “that’s not your son.”

“Put it down,” the Sheriff insisted and Allison neared her father, although Derek wasn’t sure what he was going to do, “Put it down!” he repeated the order.

“Dad, he’s gonna shoot me,” Stiles swallowed hard, “he’s gonna kill me, dad.” Oh, he was good. It was convincing. So convincing, in fact, that Derek was about to jump Argent himself.

“Don’t listen to him,” Argent reminded Stilinski as the Sheriff repeated his order and Stiles called out for his dad again.

“Pull the trigger,” Stiles tempted, the quiet words outweighing the Sheriff’s yelling to put Argent’s gun down. “Shoot me,” Stiles screamed, making Derek’s legs move on their own accord and standing in front of Stiles’ body. Because that’s all it was now. A body. “A turn of events,” Stiles gasped in practiced sarcasm, “my knight in shining armour.”

“Shut up or I’ll bite you,” Derek warned, watching the Sheriff and Argent look at the two of them in shock.

“Kinky,” Stiles winked, and Derek lost it.

“No, it’s not kinky, you know what it’s like?” Derek had turned around to face what to anyone that didn’t know would look like his boyfriend, “It’s searing, white, hot pain coursing through your body and unquenchable thirst every full moon, Stiles,” he explained, pushing the last word through gritted teeth to emphasise, at least to himself, how untrue it was. “But you know what it is above all of that?” he asked, his face mere millimetres away from Stiles’, “It’s a way to get you out of this body for good.”

The Nogitsune didn’t seem fazed as it leaned forward, almost brushing Stiles’ lips against Derek’s, “One more for the road?” it smiled as Derek took a step back, not wanting to kiss anything that was the slightest bit less than Stiles. “Adorable,” he shrugged and pulled a knife out of his back pocket.

“Stiles,” Derek warned, “Stiles, what are you-“ he didn’t get the chance to finish the question, as the Nogitsune plunged the knife into Stiles’ stomach and cut a line from one hip to the other, keeping a straight face as Stiles’ body gave out, falling to the floor on all fours and releasing a swarm of fireflies from the open would.

Derek tried to get to Stiles to make sure he doesn’t bleed out and die, but the tiny bugs attacked him, forcing him to close his eyes as he batted them away, hearing the others reacting in a similar fashion behind him. By the time the fireflies left them alone, Stiles was nowhere to be seen, having left behind nothing but a small pool of blood on the floor that didn’t even show a trail of drips anywhere. He had simply vanished. Slipped through Derek’s fingers. Again.

* * *

Derek had told everyone to go home. There was no point in marinating in each other’s wallows, when they all just needed a good night’s sleep. There wouldn’t be much planning going on anyway. Allison tried to convince her dad to let her stay with Isaac, but he insisted she come home. Derek wouldn’t have minded if she’d stayed, but he didn’t exactly try to talk her father into it. Lydia didn’t even seem for a second like she was pondering over going home. She straight up stuck by Cora’s side and followed her up to her room as soon as everyone else left. Derek didn’t mind. He saw the two of them were as obsessed with each other as he was with Stiles. Sure, it was annoying sometimes, but he was happy for the two of them.

It was calm and quiet, no one but three sleeping teenagers upstairs, but Derek couldn’t, for the life of him, fall asleep, unexpected as that was. And he figured any attempt at figuring out the Nogitsune’s play got him closer to getting Stiles back, so he dug up his dad’s old chess set they used to play every Sunday after breakfast, and he’d kept in his bookcase all these years.

“What are you doing?” Peter demanded as Derek poured the pieces out on the table like a rain of wooden figurines, returning to the apartment after half a day gone. Derek had assumed he’d gone back to his own place, or committing homicide, not in the least that he would even come back today.

“Back in his room, Stiles had a board with my name on one of the pieces,” Derek explained, “If this is a game to him, then I need to figure out the plays.”

“Not so easy to do when it’s a game without rules,” Peter watched him, “besides you were probably on there because, you know.” Derek looked up at him with a warning expression, which Peter took as a clear sign to keep talking, “you’re sleeping with him,” he notified, making Derek roll his eyes. “Wait, have you?” Peter asked, suddenly genuinely interested.

“Not indulging in this,” Derek announced, “what do you mean no rules?”

“You’re dealing with the kind of spirit that’s lived too long to play by human rules,” Peter sighed, obviously disappointed to not be able to continue in the direction that seemed more interesting to him, “It’s a fox spirit that chose to become human, and, supposedly, that’s something they can do only after about a hundred years. Imagine Stiles, who is already an annoying pain in the ass, but a dark version. Now _that_ is a fucking disaster.” Derek watched him for a while. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Peter so serious. Fatherhood suited him. “Besides,” he added, “chess is Stiles’ game. It’s not the game of a Japanese fox.”

“How do you know?” Derek asked before Peter had the chance to walk into the kitchen, “that thing about a hundred years. And, actually, everything else, too,” he clarified.

“I read Lydia’s books,” he said simply and turned to go raid his nephew’s fridge.

“How did it go with Hexley?” Derek asked, stopping Peter in his tracks, “Haven’t heard about the Mayor’s murder yet.”

“And you won’t,” Peter said surely, turning his head slightly, “she may be my daughter, but she already has a father who takes care of her.”

“Her father’s an abusive piece of shit,” Derek elaborated, now acquiring Peter’s fullest attention, as his uncle turned around to face him, “even all those years ago when she would visit Cora in the house, I noticed bruises on her arms that looked surprisingly a lot like fingertips.”

“He beats her?” Peter’s face grew pale, yet he tried to remain neutral.

“Not anymore, now that he knows of her powers, but he’s not exactly the father of the year,” Derek took a step closer to his uncle. “Look, this isn’t my place to meddle, but human fathers in supernatural families don’t necessarily have to be assholes because they’re jealous or afraid, or some shit. He had every chance to be a good father, and so do you.”

“I always looked at your dad as someone I hoped to be one day,” Peter watched the wall behind Derek, “Talia had great taste.”

“Peter, you can be a complete asshole sometimes, but you’re a good person,” Derek admitted, “when you’re not tricking teenage banshees into bringing you back from the dead or killing your own niece.”

“We need to get more supernatural friends our own age.”

“You need to stop dealing with death,” Derek corrected. “Look, give your daughter a better life, if you want to. If you’re afraid to – don’t do it. She doesn’t know yet, I can keep it that wa-“

“No,” Peter stopped him, “let Cora tell her, she’ll believe her. And let her choose. This is all about her.”

Derek nodded understandingly, and he was proud of Peter. The guy did some unimaginable shit at times, but maybe having someone to take care of and someone who cares about him would make him a better man, like Derek was learning to be. Like Peter had once been.

“You loved her mother, didn’t you?” Derek said, having turned back to the chess board to set it up the way Stiles had left it in his room.

Peter didn’t say anything, which was answer enough. “Go to sleep, Derek,” he insisted instead, and Derek actually considered it. Maybe he could give it another shot. Sleep did sound great.

* * *

The morning came with a bang, as the first thing Derek heard when he woke up was Lydia yelling at him to get dressed. They were going to Scott’s. “Anyone want to tell me what’s happening?” he asked Cora who was putting her combat boots on downstairs.

“Are you ready?” she asked in return, ignoring her brother’s question entirely.

“For what?” he was growing impatient.

“Stiles showed up in Scott’s house. Deaton paralysed him with Kanima venom. We’re going over there. Now,” Lydia explained, her voice on the verge of a breakdown. He checked his phone – half a dozen missed calls from Scott. Shit.

“Should've lead with that,” he grabbed his jacket and followed his little sister and her girlfriend out the door, still wearing the shirt he’d slept in.

Stiles was sitting on the couch almost lazily, like there was nothing wrong and he was just having a good time watching TV. Derek was glad he was paralysed, though, if he’d managed to throw him across the room, there was more damage to be done. Derek was sure of it.

Deaton and Scott were waiting for them in the kitchen while Melissa cleaned the wound on his stomach. “Did you put tape over his mouth?” Derek crossed his arms. He didn’t want to look at Stiles too long. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

“He was talking shit,” Scott sighed.

“We didn’t feel like getting manipulated into anything,” Deaton added.

“Fair enough,” Derek cleared his throat, “so how much longer do you think we have?”

“I wish I knew,” Deaton shrugged as Lydia stood next to Scott, and Cora taking a prominent position leaning against the doorway to have a staring competition with the Nogitsune, “But if we don’t figure out something soon, we’re going to need to find a better place to keep him. I think we are grossly underestimating the danger here. He might be paralysed, but,” Deaton searched for words, “it still feels like he’s got us right in the palm of his hand.”

“There’s always my storage space,” Derek suggested.

“Yeah, because keeping a Nogitsune and the person who summoned it in the same room sounds like such a great idea,” Lydia scoffed.

“We’ve kept Jennifer in there long enough,” Derek prompted.

“Are you saying either she talks or we kill her?” Scott demanded in a whisper, as if someone could imprison him for such a question.

“I’m saying we ask her again and whatever happens, happens,” Derek said suggestively.

“That’s above my pay grade,” Deaton smiled, making Cora turn her head in acknowledgement and snort a laugh.

“The scroll said to change his body,” Lydia reminded.

“That’s if I translated it correctly,” Deaton nodded. “We’re looking for a cure in something that might actually be nothing more than a proverb or a metaphor.”

“He’s never asked to be a werewolf,” Scott told her, reading Derek’s mind.

“What if it saves his live?” she had a point.

“What if it kills him?” Deaton also had a point. “That venom is not going to last long. Something needs to be done sooner rather than later.”

“He’s going to hate me for it,” Derek said, going to stand next to Cora who was still watching Stiles like a dog.

“He’s blackmailing Melissa,” she informed him, “he’s being a bitch and a half.”

“He’s a bitch and a half on a good day,” Derek breathed. “Cor, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I don’t think you have a choice, look at him,” she nodded to the boy. He looked so evil, Derek barely recognised him. There was something about his eyes. They could have belonged to the devil himself.

“He couldn’t survive a slap across the face, much less the bite of a werewolf,” Cora shook her head, “or, you _could_ try slapping it out of him, if you wanted, but I don’t really think you’d be down for that,” Cora smiled, “Or you could try psychology. Or true love’s kiss?” she grabbed at her heart dramatically, but the idea wasn’t bad. “I don’t like that face,” she said, “please tell me you’re not going to kiss him, he’ll bite your face off.”

“No, not that bullshit,” Derek dismissed, “but I could try and get into his head.”

“How?” Scott asked from behind him and Derek turned to whip his claws out with a raised eyebrow.

“Go in, try to find the real Stiles.”

“In where?” Lydia looked skeptical.

“His mind,” Cora explicated.

“Can’t do it alone,” Derek looked between Scott and Lydia.

“Hey, wow,” Cora stopped him, “really?”

“I can do it,” Lydia’s words promised, but her face told the opposite story. “Find him, lead him out, right?” she asked, looking at Derek who had already crossed the room and was standing in front of Stiles with his right claw out, left hand on the boy’s neck.

Not looking into his eyes made it feel like it was really stiles. His skin was warm and his hair shaggy, there was a heartbeat and nervous breathing. It was Stiles, as long as it didn’t talk, but it was crying. Or _he_ was crying, Derek couldn’t tell at that moment, so his walls came down and he took the tape off his boyfriend’s mouth, “Stiles?” he tried.

“Why didn’t you do it?” he asked, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “You said I’d be fine, you said you’d fix me, why didn’t you?” Derek’s breath hitched, he felt so guilty all of a sudden, “I’m so scared, Der, just bite me, please, just do it now.”

Derek actually considered it for a second, searching Stiles’ face for the slightest of signs that it wasn’t really the human boy. He wanted to end this so bad. He just wanted Stiles to be back and safe, and annoying and happy, he missed him so much. He looked so tired and worn-out, Derek just wanted to stop the tears that were falling from his…mischievous eyes. “It’s not him,” he announced, shoving the tape back onto his mouth.

“Let’s get it over with,” Lydia sighed, stopping forward and out of Cora’s protective arms.

“Good,” Derek walked around to the other side of the couch and placed the tip of his claws on the top of Stiles’ spine, “sit,” he told Lydia, pointing to a place on the couch next to Stiles’ body.

“What if this is another trick?” Scott wondered, pacing the room.

“He just tried a trick,” Derek said, “he’s afraid this might work.

“We’re running out of time,” Deaton noted.

“We’ll be fine,” Derek cracked his neck and placed his left claw on the back of Lydia’s neck.

“Do it,” she instructed, and Derek took a deep breath and dug the long claws into their flesh, feeling the floor disappear from under his feet and his eyelids falling shut, until he found himself strapped to a bed, his legs, hands and chest bound to its rails with leather belts. Turning his head, he saw Lydia in the same position on the other side of the room.

He knew that smell. The smell of dread, confusion and madness. They were at Eichen House. In Stiles’ room. “Do I actually need to remind you that you’re a werewolf?” Lydia asked as Derek struggled against the straps on his body.

“We’re in Stiles’ head,” Derek pointed out.

“And you’re a supernatural creature with supernatural strength!” her voice sounded like an echo, “Break free,” she ordered. What was the harm in trying? Derek focused his strength on pulling his right wrist free, and with the help of a few grunts and a hard tug, the leather ripped.

“Thank fuck,” he said, unbuckling the strap on his left hand, then the one on his chest and finally his legs before helping Lydia, as well. “What now?” he asked, throwing the belts on the ground.

“I don’t know,” Lydia admitted, getting up from the bed, “this is my first time in someone else’s head.”

“Let’s hope the attitude helps us, since this is the brain of the most sarcastic human being in the history of the Universe,” he looked to the door, “Just stay behind me,” he instructed, moving closer to it and carefully walking out, leaving it open for Lydia to follow him, but it fell shut with a heavy thud.

Derek whipped back to see an empty hallway with no teenage banshees behind him, and banged at the door he’d just walked through to find it locked, “Lydia?” he asked, but heard nothing from the other side of the wooden door. “Alright then,” he turned back around to see the entryway of his house, a sliver of golden light shining in from the living room.

“Hey, dingdong, set the table,” Laura’s head popped out of the kitchen door, “they’ll be home any second, I won’t allow any mess.”

“You have batter in your hair,” Derek cocked an eyebrow as she cursed and went to get a napkin, “Hey, I’ll do it in a sec, I’ll just get Cora inside, it’s getting dark,” he yelled so Laura could hear in the kitchen, walking outside to call his little sister inside. “Cor!” he called out onto the backyard, not seeing his nine-year-old sister anywhere. The moon was out, and it was plump and bright. The sun had just been setting, how was the moon out already? “Cora?” he shouted again. Why would they let her go out and play on a full moon? It made no sense.

“Derek, they’re here,” Laura said from the open kitchen window, “come, eat.”

“But Cora’s not-“

“She’s at the table already, get inside, dumbass, it’s freezing out here,” she laughed and closed the window after her.

“Thank you so much,” Derek’s mother grinned as Laura piled food onto her plate. The table was set, Cora was dressed up, there was smooth jazz playing in the distance and Peter came in with Jackaline and a bottle of wine.

“Sorry we’re late,” Peter laughed, “Ran out of gas,” he handed Derek’s father the bottle, “go ahead, sweetheart, take a seat,” he told his daughter who hopped into the chair next to Cora.

“How do you…” Derek trailed off, looking over to the kitchen, “do you smell something burning?” he asked Laura.

“No, I took everything out the oven, will you sit down already?” she rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Well, did you turn the oven off?” he huffed.

“Go, check, if you’re so pedantic,” she said ignoring Derek leaving the room to check on the kitchen, hearing someone yell Lydia’s name, but when he checked outside the window, there was no one there.

“Are you coming back at all?” Laura asked, stepping into the kitchen to grab another plate she’d forgotten earlier.

“Laura,” Derek started carefully, “you’re dead.”

Her face fell as if someone had stuck a knife into her back right that second, “What?”

“Peter killed you,” he whispered.

“Peter’s in the dining room,” Laura reminded, a look of disbelief and hurt mixing on her face, “Why are you saying this?”

“This is a trick,” he realised, looking over to the back door that lead into the backyard.

“Derek, come back and eat with us,” she pleaded as Derek walked over to the door, “Please, just come back to the table,” her begging was overpowered by another yell of Lydia’s name as he wrapped his fingers around the handle and twisted until it opened to reveal a blinding bright, white room. It was completely empty and seemed to go on infinitely. There was nothing behind him as he turned back, hoping to see the door again. Maybe just have one last meal with his family again. He turned to his right, noticing another person standing a bit further, so he ran towards them, glad to find it was Lydia. Glad he could even remember who Lydia was in the first place. She was watching something in the opposite side of the room, and when Derek focused, he saw Stiles playing a game of Go with the monster that had been buried in the wall at Eichen House, perched on top of the Nemeton that Jackaline had burned down to its roots.

“Wanna try that true love’s kiss right about now?” Lydia suggested.

“No time like the present,” Derek sighed, taking a few steps forward and hearing Lydia follow him. But they couldn’t get any closer. And once they both started running, they still couldn’t get any closer. Derek could have done this for a good while, but Lydia was breathing hard, so he stopped for her sake, yelling out Stiles’ name just like he’d heard someone yelling Lydia’s a minute ago. She joined in with the screaming, even waving her hands in the air, but Stiles didn’t even flinch, so they tried running again, and it got them no closer.

“Is he still Scott’s pack?” Lydia asked, resting her hands on her knees and trying to catch her breath.

“What?” he asked, watching Stiles.

“Well, he’s human,” she said, “but he’s always been a part of Scott’s pack, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Derek shrugged, not taking his eyes off of the lanky boy squatting across the room from him. The Nogitsune had noticed them, it was looking over to them.

“Is that _still_ true?” she wondered with a raised eyebrow, "Or has his allegiance changed?"

“One way to find out,” he said, letting himself half-wolf-out and howling as loud as he could to reach Stiles. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or literally Stiles’, but the stones on the board started vibrating. Stiles flinched. He could hear him. He looked over and recognition took over his face. He knew they’d come for him, so he wiped the stones off the board, making the Nogitsune roar louder than Derek could handle, as the ground shook.

He opened his eyes with a gasp after squeezing them shut, trying to block the sound out, and he was back in Scott’s living room, “Did it work?” he asked, rushing to get to Stiles’ face, Lydia getting up, as well, and rubbing the back of her neck where Derek’s claws had just penetrated her skin.

Stiles was unconscious. That was what Derek had been most afraid of. What if they hadn’t brought Stiles back? What if they’d kicked both the Nogitsune and Stiles out of his own head? “Why didn’t it work?” Lydia asked, blood running from her nose.

“Because it’s not science, it’s supernatural,” Cora, grabbed a hold of her and wiped at her face with a paper tissue, looking worried, but probably not just for her girlfriend, “Derek?” his sister asked, looking back over at Stiles again, the single word seemingly waking the human up.

His body wasn’t paralysed anymore, but he looked distressed when he came back to, ripping the tape off of his mouth and pulling something long and disgusting out along with it. It wouldn’t end and Stiles looked like he couldn’t breathe, as he fell to the floor on all fours and started throwing up what Derek recognised as the Nogitsune’s bandages, something resembling dark smoke accompanying the pile forming on the ground, until Stiles yanked the last of it out of his body, fighting for a breath on the ground.

A hand reached out of the pile, bandaged up and wearing an army jacket. The Nogitsune might have left Stiles’ body, but there was more to be heard from it. The rest of its body followed as it pulled itself out of the pile, as if there was a portal under it. Derek reached out to Stiles to help him up and keep him behind his body, making him stay there as he tackled the monster to the ground with Cora and Scott’s help when it had attempted to step forward into the direction of Deaton, Melissa and Lydia.

“Hold him down!” Cora yelled.

“I’m trying,” Derek said through gritted teeth, noticing the thing grabbing at its own face, “Wait, wait, wait,” he grabbed Scott’s arms, “wait,” he breathed, helping the Nogitsune rid of the bandages on its head, tugging and pulling until it revealed skin. Skin Derek would know anywhere. Skin that could only belong to one person. But it couldn’t be. What?

“Derek?” Stiles asked, confused, not that the rest of them had any more of an idea what was happening. There were two of them.

“Scott,” Deaton said, grabbing everyone’s attention and pointing to the open front door. The other Stiles was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Lydia.

“Where are they?” Cora asked, “Where are they?” she repeated, her voice more demanding

“Lydia!” Scott yelled, running out the door, Cora following suit.

“What did I do?” Stiles asked, tears and guilt being the only thing evident in his eyes.

“Nothing,” Derek promised, pulling Stiles’ head to his chest and kissing the top of it, “you did nothing at all,” he sighed in relief, breathing in Stiles’ hair. It smelled like fear and confusion, but more importantly – it smelled human.

“Stiles,” Melissa said softly, Derek unwillingly letting go of him, “let’s get you some clothes and check you out, okay?” she suggested and Stiles nodded. Melissa let him lay down on Scott’s bed and gave him some of his clothes. Derek helped him get all of the bandages off, along with the army jacket and trousers, that Derek had the insatiable wish to set on fire. Melissa seemed afraid to touch him, even when examining him. So did Derek, but he remained close, in case this really was the real Stiles. And if it was, he’d need support. He’d need Derek.

* * *

“Are they here?” Stiles asked when Scott entered his own bedroom.

“Yeah,” he nodded unsurely.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he sat up with a groan, seeing them all share a look, “We have to do this,” Stiles reminded, letting Derek help him off the bed and down the stairs.

Peter, Jennifer and Jackaline were standing in the living room, waiting for Stiles. As far as Derek knew the plan, Peter was here to guard Jennifer as they gave her one last chance to explain herself, and Jackaline was the only one who could tell if Stiles was really Stiles. Derek thought he was. But Derek could be easily fooled when it came to Stiles. Jennifer didn’t look in a talking mood. Not that she ever had after Derek found out she’d wanted him dead, Peter looked awkward, probably for the first time in his life, around Jackaline, and Jack herself was terrified to go into Stiles' mind. Derek understood that, he’d been there, it hadn’t exactly been a picnic.

“Come here,” Derek gently lead his boyfriend to the couch, sitting him down, as Jackaline kneeled on the floor in front of him. Her gaze was so loving and light, she was sad for Stiles having to endure this instead of scared about walking into a trap. She was the opposite of Peter, yet there was something so distinctively Hale about her, that Derek wondered how he hadn’t realised this sooner. Her eyes closed as Stiles looked back to Derek with worry in his eyes. Stiles was worried he wasn’t actually Stiles. That couldn’t possibly be the Nogitsune. Derek gave him a reassuring albeit a little tight smile, earning back an even less convincing mirror of it from Stiles.

“It’s Stiles,” Jackaline said the second her eyes opened, looking slightly dizzy, “I’m sure,” she got up and went back to standing by Peter’s side. Had he told her? Had Cora told her? Did she just sense it? She seemed far too weirdly trusting in him.

“I knew it,” Derek sighed, sitting next to Stiles, only now noticing how tired his feet were. He placed his hand on his boyfriend’s thigh and felt him curl into his side in relief.

“Why did he take Lydia?” Cora asked, standing in the corner, brooding like Derek knew he would be, too, if he was in his little sister’s place. In fact, he had been several times over the course of the past few weeks.

“Advantage, she’s a banshee,” Jennifer smiled, “Yeah, hi, remember me? I’m the chick you tied to a goddamn chair in a basement for three days.”

“Consider it a free retreat,” Peter growled warningly. “About damn time you tell us who you are.”

Scott brought a chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of the couch, “Talk,” he demanded, taking Jackaline’s hand and leading her away from their English teacher. Peter stayed behind Jennifer just in case she tried to flee. She rolled her eyes, but sat on the chair nonetheless, looking around as if waiting to be questioned.

“Well, go on,” Derek said, crossing his arms and sitting back deeper in the couch. He saw in the corner of his eyes that Stiles didn’t like this. And rightfully so – this woman had summoned a demonic Japanese piece of shit and let it live inside of Stiles, wreaking havoc whenever and however it pleased. And then there was the added bonus of her having had slept with Derek, which could not have been fun for Stiles.

“My name, as you geniuses might suspect, is not Jennifer Blake. It’s Julia Baccari,” her voice was rich with annoyance, “Your mother killed my pack.”

“Excuse me?” Derek squinted his eyes, leaning forward.

“Oh yeah,” she smiled a sour little grin, “protector of the town, my ass,” she slumped into the chair. “She killed the only family I had left. And she thought she’d left me for dead, too, but the all-powerful Talia Hale made a mistake, and look where that got her.”

Derek had a bad feeling about this, “Are you saying that you were somehow involved in the mass murder of my family? Because they were killed by-“

“Kate Argent was but a pawn in my game, she thought I was just another hunter,” she laughed, “Bitch fell in love with me. I had her wrapped around my little finger. She commits arson, I get my way, leave for good, but oh, no, of course, the Hales and their stamina. Their talent for never quite being extinct,” she shook her head. “By the time I found out there were five left, I’d moved to the other side of the continent. I couldn’t stop there,” she said, making Peter and Derek share a careful look about the fifth Hale. "Then this wildcard took care of one of you for me," she said, looking at Peter with a daring smirk.

“So you invited an unstoppable force of chaos to kill everyone no matter who it was,” Derek stated.

“I just thought the Nogitsune would do that one little thing for me,” she shrugged. 

“The little thing of killing the rest of my family?” Peter groaned, “Why are you even telling us all of this?”

“You’re killing me anyway, aren’t you?” she said with a scoff, sending another wave of pointed looks across the room, “Oh, God, you’re not even planning on killing me, are you? Jesus, you Hales and your righteousness.”

“Why did my mother kill your pack?” Derek asked, talking over the end of her last sentence, unable to take much more of this.

“Because she didn’t support our cause. She didn’t like how we did things, and when we became difficult to deal with, she grew short-tempered. And offed us. Well, most of us.”

“What was your cause?” Peter leaned on the back of the chair, getting uncomfortably close to her.

“We didn’t exactly like the idea of being as friendly with the mortals as she liked to be.”

“So you guys were Death Eaters?” Stiles asked, having curled us with his feet on the couch and biting the thumbnail of his right hand when Derek looked to him, looking offended when no one understood the reference.

“Voldemort,” Derek clarified, earning a shocked smile from his thus far serious boyfriend.

“Harry Potter, you uneducated losers,” Cora joined in when no one reacted.

“Wasn’t really a reason to kill us,” Jennifer, or Julia, apparently, brooded.

“Depends on how far you went to annoy my sister,” Peter shrugged.

“So, am I dying tonight, or what?” she sounded pretty calm for someone who was about to, in her own words, be offed. Derek looked to Peter with an implied question, then to Stiles, who was sporting the same quizzical look, only directed to Scott.

“What do you say?” Derek asked Stiles, his hand finding his human boyfriend’s thigh again.

“What? Me?” he laughed nervously, “You’re the ones that were about to die by her hand, why me?”

“Because she led the Nogitsune to _you_ , Stiles,” Derek said calmly.

He looked down in distress, Derek could see the gears turning in his head, he’d missed this Stiles the most. Sure, having him close, being able to touch him and making out with him was incredibly nice, but this Stiles – the Stiles that did all the planning for everyone else, the Stiles that always thought before he shot. The smart one. The human one. This was the Stiles that Derek fell for.

“How much do you know about the Nogitsune?” Stiles asked Julia, eyes dark and spiteful, his hatred towards her extremely obvious.

“Not everything there is,” she raised her eyebrows in challenge.

“But you must know more than us, right?” he leaned forward.

* * *

“There is one thing we need to do before we head out,” Derek said to Stiles, watching him put one of Scott’s jackets on, “we’re going to the Sheriff’s station,” Derek announced, not waiting for approval.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, which Derek hadn’t expected. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of having to dispute his reasoning, but he’d been ready to do it. Apparently that was unnecessary, “You coming with?” he asked Scott.

“I’ll take them,” Peter dismissed, nodding to Jackaline and Cora, “I’ll need help holding the nutcase down anyway.” Derek and Cora might trust Peter, as idiotic as it was, but Scott certainly didn’t, so there was no way he’d let Jackaline go along with him without supervision.

 _“Well you’re obviously dying, let’s get that out the way,”_ had been the first thing out of Julia’s mouth when asked about the Nogitsune. No way was Derek letting that happen. They’d had a plan before this. It could still work, this time they’d even have Stiles’ consent. That didn’t make him any less terrified about the prospect.

“Come on,” Derek’s hand found its way to Stiles’ shoulder, settling there merrily and leading him outside. He was so relieved to feel the familiar flesh under his thumb that slipped onto Stiles’ neck, and the smell of nervousness mixing with the unfamiliarity of Scott's body wash on Stiles' skin. He hadn’t let himself feel just how much he’d actually missed Stiles. He could feel the tension inside him the whole drive over. Awkwardness and fear. The two emotions Derek detested the most. “What is it?” he asked, knowing they were going to be there soon and wouldn’t have time for talking.

“What?” Stiles sounded genuinely surprised.

“What are you so jittery about?” Derek tried to make his voice as kind as he could. It wasn’t that he was annoyed or impatient. It was just that without Stiles around, he’d managed to forget how to be kind. He needed to think before he said things.

“I’m not jittery,” Stiles argued a bit too defensively, making Derek turn to look at him. He didn’t have to remind him he was a werewolf that could sense these sort of things. Not to mention sense when Stiles was lying, which he was. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No one’s letting you die,” Derek tried to keep calm. He hated that he even needed to promise something like that to Stiles. He hated a lot of things at the moment. Most of all – how little he knew and how little he could do.

“That’s fine,” Stiles shook his head, “I just…” he exhaled and rubbed his face. “Did he talk to you?”

“Who?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed.

“The Nogitsune,” Stiles was watching Derek. Derek knew Stiles could read him, so there was probably no point in little white lies.

“He did,” he admitted.

“What did he say?” Stiles pried.

“I doesn’t matter, I knew it wasn’t you,” Derek felt like he was being scolded for something, or defending someone, Stiles’ gaze was so intense, he’d never seen anything of the sort from the human.

“What was it?” Stiles demanded nonetheless.

Man, he really didn’t want to say. He felt bad himself about almost falling for it. He had no intention of putting Stiles through hearing it. After all, the Nogitsune had taken it from Stiles’ subconscious. It wasn’t exactly picked from thin air. “It tried to get me to give you the bite. I think it knew what we were about to do would work, so it, sort of, tried to trick me into doing something more dangerous.”

“More dangerous that going into another person’s head?” Stiles was looking straight out the window. “How did you know? That it wasn’t me?”

“Because contrary to popular belief, I do actually know you very well,” Derek said offensively, earning a small chuckle from his boyfriend. “And _you_ would never guilt me like that.”

“Did he cry?” Stiles whispered dramatically, and Derek nodded, “Bitch ass.”

“You’re cute when you cry, you know that?” Derek smirked, burying the fingers of his right hand in Stiles’ hair while doing his best to look at the road. “He knew that it might work on me.”

“Softie,” Stiles scoffed, leaning into the touch, Derek humming in answer. He pulled up to the station, and, having parked next to the Sheriff’s car, looked over at Stiles, placing his hand, that he’d just removed from Stiles’ hair to park, on Stiles’ thigh. “I’m not freaking out,” Stiles promised.

“I know,” Derek agreed, “You’re great at shoving shit down, but you once told me not to lie to you, so don’t you dare.”

Stiles laughed, looking down at Derek’s hand on his lap, “I’m trying to keep myself together.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I'm doing it for you,” Stiles looked guilty to admit it. Derek was used to the tug in his stomach he got when Stiles looked guilty. There had been a lot of that going around lately. But even though he knew what that look meant, he had no clue what he was talking about.

“What?”

It took Stiles a few beats to figure out what to say, but he didn’t look like it had slipped out by accident, “You won’t be able to handle me breaking down. You have so much on your plate, all of this, you’re doing it because of me. None of this would be your responsibility, if we weren’t together.” Derek kept his mouth shut, despite his brain yelling at him to tell Stiles that it wasn’t true. Even if they weren’t together, he’d still have been as in love with Stiles as he was, and there was nothing that could keep him away from those he loves. “I know I couldn’t handle you breaking down, I’m pissed off even thinking about it,” Derek saw his hands trace invisible patterns on each other in an uneasy, fidgety manner. “I’m not saying you’re weak or something, I’m saying I wouldn’t be able to handle it, so I don’t want you to even attempt it.”

Stiles was right. Derek didn’t think he could keep going if he saw Stiles unable to process what was happening to himself. This also gave him motivation to keep it together however long it would take them tracking down the Nogitsune and wiping it off the face of the Earth. “You know I love you, right?” Derek said quietly, Stiles’ head snapping up to meet his eyes.

“You do,” his question came out more as an unsure statement.

“I do,” Derek promised, not waiting for a reciprocation before taking a hold of the back of Stiles’ head and bringing their lips together. Stiles’ hands found their way to Derek’s back to pull him closer in about three seconds, the armrest their biggest enemy, but Derek wasn’t exactly about to fuck Stiles right in front of his father’s workplace. Arresting someone for public nudity couldn’t be too fun. Public nudity on government property was probably worse. When it was your son that you’re arresting – worst case scenario. Really fucking bad.

Derek had missed the hell out of this. He’d managed to almost forget how good Stiles tasted and how much he liked it when Derek bit his lip, which he expressed with a moan. Derek felt like a goddamn goldfish, needing reminding every ten seconds, or he’ll forget he even has a Stiles.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles said when Derek had moved his lips to his jaw, but it didn’t sound like a good _Jesus Christ._ He forced himself to open his eyes, seeing Stiles looking over Derek’s shoulder, almost afraid to turn, but finding Peter and Scott smiling proudly at them from Peter’s conveniently-parked-next-to-them car like the pair of sketchy uncle and intrusive best friend that they were.

“Okay, go,” Derek instructed, his hand still on Stiles’ jaw, allowing him to get one last peck in before Stiles left the car with a blush and a slightly happier demeanour than he’d gotten into it with. Scott’s smirk hadn’t dissipated by the time he met his best friend outside, and Derek chose to watch the two of them instead of focusing on Peter opening the passenger window of his car, hearing his “Come on, Derek, I know you can see me,” through the glass once he hadn’t reacted. He pointedly pulled out his phone and turned up the volume on the _The Black Keys_ album they’d been listening to on their way here.

The Nogitsune was doing unimaginable things. Things Jackaline wouldn’t have done at her worst. It was mythical and ancient, yes, but it had lived on their world for long enough to become better than ever before. It was drawing its strength from the Nemeton, as destroyed as Jack had left it. As long as it was in Beacon Hills, it was stronger than anything they’d had to face before, and Derek would be lying if he said it didn’t scare the shit out of him.

He watched the building Stiles was currently in, checking for signs of unusual behaviour without even realising it. He tried not to listen in, since Stiles and his dad deserved to be left alone for a few minutes, but he still listened. Beyond the sound of his car stereo, beyond the rustling of the wind and the sounds of the small town in the night or Jackaline and Cora in the backseat of Peter’s car, he listened to other officers in the station, digging for information they would let slip to each other, finding Parish’s voice on the phone to Eichen House and knowing that’s probably where they’re headed next. Again.

“They’ve got an APB on her car, Allison said Isaac’s well enough for the two of them to go check it out,” Stiles announced once he was back in Derek’s car, sounding more normal than Derek would like him to be. He was the determined, focused Stiles that Derek had missed for weeks, but it was still weird to him how well the guy could shove all of this down.

“Good,” Derek nodded instead of reminding Stiles of their no-bullshit deal, “anything else?” he asked, remembering the mention of Eichen House.

“There was a girl in Eichen, Meredith, I met her when I was there, briefly,” Stiles remembered, “apparently she’s been screaming all night,” he looked to Derek with an implying look.

“I see,” the werewolf sighed, looking down, connecting the dots, “so we ride?”

“I was told not to,” Stiles sighed and rested his head on the back of the passenger’s seat, “direct orders.”

“You’re not one to follow orders,” Derek reminded with a smirk, his upper body still fully turned towards Stiles instead the steering wheel, trying not to think about Peter listening in on the two of them from the next car over.

“I also don’t really want to go back there,” his eyes closed and he breathed in deeply, the right corner of his mouth twitching up for half a second. Derek knew the car smelled like him and that calmed Stiles down. He also knew Stiles was exhausted and trying his best to stay sharp.

“Then we’re going back to Scott’s,” Derek announced and looked out his window to see whether the werewolves in the other car had heard, which they had, confirmed by a lazy solute from Peter.

Stiles shook his head, “We have to go look for Lydia, I’m-“

“No good to anyone if you can’t keep your eyes open,” Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead and followed Peter’s car which had already pulled out of its spot.

Stiles chuckled, nodded and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. The drive wasn’t long, but it was enough to make Stiles almost nod off twice and then freak himself out as he jerked back awake, needing Derek to repeat that it’s okay a few times just to get his heartbeat steady.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Scott said, telling Stiles and Derek to take the couch and the girls – his bed, Peter saying he’ll go check up on Jennifer, or Julia, to be more exact, to stay out of their way. Stiles laid down as per Derek’s request, the werewolf sitting on the floor next to Stiles’ head, hand buried in his boyfriend’s hair, massaging the warm skin slowly to get him to relax and hoping he wouldn’t have to suffer through another night of dreadful nightmares.

“I’m not much in the kitchen,” Scott stated, coming back into the living room with a large plate of sandwiches in his hand, noticing Stiles fast asleep and dialling his voice down, “but I can make a mean PB and J,” he whispered.

Derek took one with a smile, mostly to be polite, since he still had no appetite, and bit into it, turning back to watch Stiles’ calm face. He’d always wanted to wake up to this every morning – someone he loved, sleeping soundly, feeling safe next to Derek. All he wanted was serenity for more than a week at a time.

“You should get some sleep, too,” Scott suggested, leaving two more sandwiches on a paper tissue on the coffee table for Stiles before bringing the rest upstairs to his girlfriend and Derek’s sister.

“I’m good,” Derek sighed, “I don’t want him to be in danger anymore,” he admitted, surprised that he felt so open all of a sudden.

“Yeah, I know,” Scott smiled, “but werewolves need their sleep, too.”

“I’ll sleep when this is all over,” he took another bite, savouring the sugar and imagining energy surging through his blood, “I’m not losing him again.” Scott nodded, not saying another word, a look of understanding in his eyes, as he patted Derek’s back with his free hand and went upstairs, not to be heard from again for five hours.

Stiles twisted and turned in his sleep, but never actually woke up. Derek hated seeing him obviously suffer as his subconscious showed him what was probably images of death and terror, but Stiles needed his energy, so Derek didn’t wake him up every time he felt twitched.

As the sun started rising, Stiles grew less and less restless, the light possibly helping with the fear the Nogitsune had polluted Stiles’ mind with. Derek hadn’t closed his eyes for even a second when Scott came back downstairs. Watching Stiles was entertainment enough for hours on end. “Have you been up all night?” Scott’s voice sounded tired and husky with the lack of proper sleep, and he descended the stairs, digging the tips of his fingers into the back of his neck, probably having slept on a chair, as Derek assumed.

“At least he’s still here,” Derek stretched, standing up for the first time in hours, ass numb and muscles atrophied. He’d eaten all of the sandwiches Scott had left them out of boredom, and now felt bad, that Stiles won’t have anything to wrap his teeth around once he wakes up, so he offered to make breakfast for everyone. Cooking calmed him. And he needed calm.

He heard Stiles jerk awake a few minutes later, probably due to all the sounds around him. Cora and Jackaline had obviously woken up at some point as there was talking upstairs, Scott was checking in on Allison and Isaac on the phone, and Stiles’ phone was going off with messages, probably from his father.

Stiles Stumbled to get upright and on his feet, as Scott ran up to him to check if he was okay. “What happened? How long was I out?” Derek heard Stiles demanded from the other room.

“Just a couple of hours,” Scott promised, “you should sit down.”

“Where’s my dad? Where’s Derek?” his voice was jittery and nervous, guilt dripping from his words, as if he blamed himself for falling asleep for so long.

“Your dad’s at Eichen House, Derek’s just in the kitchen, Cora and Jack are upstairs. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay,” Stiles took a breath, “what about the others?”

“Everyone’s looking for Lydia, they’re all fine.”

“We should be looking for her, too,” Stiles stumbled over his words just as Derek walked in with a cup of coffee which Stiles accepted with an apologetic and thankful glance to his boyfriend.

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek said quietly, trying not to trigger him, but he looked too worn-out for an argument, not to mention he was shaking, so he nodded and apologised. Derek didn’t like it when Stiles apologised for shit that he wasn’t responsible for.

“I just feel like we’re waiting for a ransom call,” he said as Derek put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, feeling a jolt of pain go through him.

“We’ll find her,” Scott vowed, “eat something, please.” It was more an order than a suggestion.

“You’re in pain,” Derek stated quietly, hoping Scott wouldn’t hear, if Stiles was really trying to hide it.

“I’m fine,” Stiles dismissed, sipping the last of his coffee. Derek hadn’t even noticed him having finished it so quickly.

“And you’re freezing.”

“Can’t seem to get warm,” Stiles shifted uncomfortably, “I’ll be fine.”

“Sit down,” Derek pulled a chair out for him at the kitchen table and went back to the living room to get his leather jacket, “here,” he handed it to Stiles, who took it eagerly, wrapping himself in it, as Derek poured him more coffee. Giving the guy so much caffeine was probably not the most genius of ideas, but if it warmed him up, Derek was good with that. “Let me-“ he reached out to touch Stiles’ hand.

“No, don’t do that to yourself,” Stiles instructed.

“Tell me the truth,” Derek said in his low, serious, tough guy voice, kneeling in front of Stiles, “how much does it really hurt?”

Stiles blew a breath into his palms and rubbed them together before looking up at the werewolf, “So much,” he was very obviously holding back tears.

“Come here,” Derek demanded, pulling him into his arms, and putting his hand on the back of his neck, warm skin meeting cold, taking away the pain Stiles wouldn’t let him, and keeping him in place by force, when the human tried to object, holding his breath and gritting his teeth as he felt the equivalent of a wisdom teeth ache running over every single one of his bones. Only double.

“She’s at school,” Jackaline said, coming down the stairs, “Meredith.”

“Shit,” Scott said under his breath.

“Let’s go,” Stiles managed to wiggle out of Derek’s grasp, leaving him panting, and trying to focus his thoughts among the searing hot pain, “thank you,” Stiles whispered and left a lingering peck on his cheek before running off.

“How are they getting there?” Cora asked, watching as the two of them left the house, making Derek remember Stiles was wearing his jacket.

“Bastards,” he laughed and got up, “eat,” he told the girls, almost suggesting they go with Stiles and Scott and get to class, but thinking better of it, imagining what Cora could do to him while he’s in this amount of pain.

* * *

About two hours and no messages from Scott or Stiles later, just as Derek was beginning to feel jittery and nervous, he heard the key scrape against the wood of the front doors and then turn in the lock. He’d already gotten up to greet Stiles and receive news, but stopped in his tracks upon seeing a dumbstruck Agent McCall in the doorway. “Derek Hale? What are you doing in my house?” he asked, ignoring the two teenage girls behind him.

“I’m, uh,” he found himself scrambling for an excuse.

“He’s my cousin,” Jackaline rushed in as his savior, expressing, for the first time publicly, that she knew of her actual heritage, “I’m Jackaline Hale, Scott’s girlfriend,” she stated emotionlessly, conveying the same amount of respect and love for the man as Scott usually did. Or lack thereof. 

“Oh,” McCall looked like a fish out of water. Rightfully so – his son was dating a Hale and he had no idea what else was happening in the boy’s life. “I didn’t know he had a girlfr- Where is he anyway?”

“At school,” Jack and Derek said at once.

“Why aren’t y-“ He was interrupted by the door opening another time, much more easily now that McCall had forgotten to lock it behind himself, in rushing three teenagers that were not in the least expecting the spectacle in front of them.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked his father accusingly, in an almost hateful tone. Derek wouldn’t be surprised if it took McCall much more than two sentences to have Scott spit on him, by the looks of it.

“I could ask you the same thing,” his dad retorted, Derek and Stiles sharing an awkward look, before Stiles chimed in to help.

“Free period,” he said quickly, man these teenagers were getting disturbingly good at lying, “we’re doing a group study,” he quickly added in a perfectly natural demeanor, good thing McCall didn’t have the ears Derek had or else he would’ve heard the little stutter in Stiles’ heartbeat.

“Who is she?” Scott’s dad in return, not looking like he believed a single word uttered by Stiles.

Scott looked at the girl Derek assumed to be Meredith standing in-between the two trouble-making dumbasses and put his hand around her, “She’s my girlfriend.”

Derek could see Jackaline shaking her head in warning before he’d even managed to finish the lie, “Try again,” Jack winced.

“She’s, uh, _my_ girlfriend,” Stiles corrected.

“Try again,” Derek warned, the little look of realisation and possibly even disgust glinting in McCall’s eyes as he understood what Derek was implying. No wonder Scott hated his father, the guy was a douchebag.

“You’re not my type,” Meredith squirmed, “he is,” she added, nodding towards Derek.

“We should probably take this upstairs,” Stiles said, squinting his eyes, “Derek can come, too, I guess,” he lead Meredith into the hallway and up the stairs, Derek, his sister and cousin following right behind, the girls curious as all hell to see what was about to happen, and far too uncomfortable to remain downstairs where Scott was asked to stay behind for a chat with his dad.

“I’m guessing this is Meredith?” Derek said calmly once he was back in close proximity to his boyfriend in Scott’s bedroom.

“Where is she?” Cora asked, her voice much more sad and desperate that her usual impatient growling, yet Meredith just looked at her in confusion.

“Lydia Martin?” Stiles supplied, bumping his fists together, since, as Derek knew, he usually needed something to do with his hands when he was nervous.

“Lydia,” Meredith echoed, “you mean the red-haired girl.”

“Yes. Yes! Good, progress,” Stiles exclaimed, along with Cora’s excited knee-bend as she bit her thumbnail. “Now all you gotta do is tell us where she is.”

“Okay,” Meredith agreed and looked at them with a blank expression, “if she tells me.”

“Wh- If she tells you?” Derek asked, trying to stay as calm as possible, but he was starting to regret cohorting with this nutcase.

“Can you ask her?” Cora was on thin ice with the amount of patience she had left for this chick, as well.

“I already did,” she shrugged with a satisfied smile on her lips, like she was proud of herself for it.

“Perfect, perfect, what did she say?” Stiles asked, completely indulged, as if he was speaking to a shy child that just needed that one little extra push to fit in.

“She said,” Meredith started and seemed to mull it over for a bit, “she doesn’t wanna be found.”

“That’s good, too,” Stiles looked lost for ideas, on the verge of giving up, but him continuing to bang fists together was a sign that he was thinking. Trying to figure out what to do next. Whom to ask next.

“I’ll fucking strangle someone,” Cora sighed, “and you’re first on my list, nutjob.”

“Okay, let’s just calm down, why don’t we?” Stiles suggested and started pacing, moving towards Scott’s bathroom and standing in the doorway, watching Derek approach him through his eyebrows – another way Derek could tell his boyfriend was nervous.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, trying not to admire how good Stiles looked in his jacket, because, damn it, this was the last thing he should be focusing on. Except, it was warm as hell outside. Why would Stiles still be wearing it? “Are you still cold?”

“No?” Stiles said defensively, “A little,” he shrugged, knowing that lying to the werewolf was pointless. “I think we need to find another way to get to her. Someone else, you know?” he changed the subject.

“Who else are you proposing that has voices in their head?”

“Knowing this town, fucking anybody, probably,” Stiles’ sigh mixed with a shiver, making for a shaky breath and a concerned Derek.

“I say we pull it out of her,” Cora walked up to the two of them.

“She wants me to torture her,” Jack explained with a roll of her eyes.

“Only a little bit, I don’t think she’d need much, look at her,” Cora said defensively, pointing to the girl sat on the edge of Scott’s bed, mumbling to herself.

“Cor, we’re not torturing an innocent and defenceless albeit a little moronic little psycho,” Derek shook his head.

“Just to see how much she can take, we can’t risk her knowing something and not telling us, I’m just saying...”

“We’re not going to torture her,” Stiles said slowly, not believing this is an actual conversation they were having.

“Just scare her a little, then,” Cora whispered.

“We’re not gonna psychologically torture her either,” Stiles’ tone shut her up with an annoyed ‘fine’.

“Okay, how about this?” Jackaline said quietly, watching the girl on the bed, “You said she hears things, right? Doesn’t that mean she’s like Lydia? A banshee?”

Recognition took over Stiles’ face as he looked over to Derek with a look that asked whether he agreed with the theory. He did. “Okay,” Stiles nodded and walked back into Scott’s bedroom and squatted in front of Meredith, “Okay,” he said louder this time, to grab her attention, “we’re gonna try something, is that okay?” he asked and she nodded. “Alright, just try to focus on the sounds around you, on what you’re hearing, just focus on the silence,” he explained and she nodded.

“Listen to the silence,” Cora stressed.

“Focusing on the silence,” Stiles repeated.

“Listening to the silence,” Cora said, sounding like a parody of a life coach, so Derek dragged her out of the room, making her stay in the hallway, but not feeling mean enough to close the door.

“Isn’t anyone gonna get that?” Meredith asked, looking between Stiles and Derek who had just returned to enjoy the rest of the spectacle, as Jackaline stood cross-armed, leaning against the wall.

“Get what?” Stiles looked up to Derek, hoping he knew the answer.

“The phone,” she explained as if it was obvious, and kept staring at Stiles in the silent house.

“The phone,” Derek tapped Stiles’ chest with the back of his hand, “the phone, Stiles,” he pointed to the human’s jeans when he was still confused as to what was happening.

“Oh! The ph-the phone,” Stiles pretended to only now realise that it was calling, “my phone,” he agreed and pulled it out of his pocket, sliding his thumb over the dark screen of the silent device and answering the call from no one ever so casually, “Hello?” he asked like the person on the other end of the line was his dad, or Scott, or Derek, “Yeah, she is, actually, she’s here,” he said nonchalantly and handed it to Meredith, adding a whispered, “It’s for you.”

She listened intently for the whole of two seconds and handed the phone back to Stiles. “They say Stradford-upon-Avon.”

“England,” Derek stated, dumbfounded.

“Oh my God, I know where Lydia is,” Scott said, having appeared in the doorway.

* * *

Derek hadn’t heard Scott tell Stiles the instructions of where exactly to drive, but he wasn’t going to annoy anyone with his questions, so he just got in the car and shut his mouth, taking the back seat with Cora and Jackaline after trying to tell them to stay behind and keep themselves safe. Not that it had worked. Not that it ever worked anymore. Derek had lost his big brother authority, he was just a mouth to roll eyes at and disagree with.

“You okay, dude?” Stiles asked Scott who had managed to snag shotgun, not that Derek minded much, he could make it five minutes without being shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. He totally could. It wasn’t killing him at all.

“What?” Scott seemed pulled out of his thoughts, “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to worry about me.” Derek knew exactly what that meant. He was trying not to think about it too much, and he was avoiding the subject at all costs. Ignorance is bliss, he kept telling himself.

“Alright, I’m gonna say it,” Cora leaned forward from her seat in the middle of the back of the car, smushed between her brother and best-friend-turned-surprise-cousin, “you look like shit, and you look like you’re dying.” she said, earning a smack in the arm from Jackaline and pointed looks from both Derek and Scott, “You’re pale and you’re thin. I mean even more than usual,” she continued, “and you look like you’re getting worse. We’re all sitting here, thinking it,” she leaned back into her seat. Stiles did nothing to argue with what she was saying, moreover, he looked like he agreed and was trying to avoid thinking about it the same way Derek was. “When we get to the other Stiles, is he going to be getting better?”

“What happens, if,” Scott started unsurely, “if he gets hurt?”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a few beats, “You mean, if he dies, do I die?” he asked, looking straight ahead at the road, no emotion of his features, “I don’t care. So what? At least no one else dies because of me,” he admitted in hushed candor, voicing what Derek had been most afraid of – Stiles putting everyone else before his own well-being. “I remember everything I did, Scott,” he looked over to his best friend, eyes flicking to the backseat for a moment, but never quite reaching Derek’s, afraid of what they might find there, “I know I said I didn’t, but it came back after the other Stiles and I got separated. I remember hurting you guys.” No one said anything, no one dared, not even when Stiles said to promise him they wouldn’t let anyone else die because of him, a single reluctant nod from Scott was all anyone dared to do to acknowledge the demand. The demand to let the human die, if it came to it.

They’d called Deaton and found out that the Nemeton might have helped with containing the Nogitsune, that is, if Jackaline hadn’t burned it down. It had also taken Derek a while to realise that the little round wooden box that currently played host to his mother’s claws was made from that exact tree. It was their only hope.

“Where is he?” Stiles asked to no one in particular as they got out of the car, meaning Peter who was bringing Julia.

“On his way,” Derek answered, having just checked his phone for updates. There was nothing there, but he wasn’t about to worry Stiles with Peter’s inability to text back, “I just hope there’s any point of bringing her here.”

“If she knows anything, she’s an advantage. Besides her stuck in that basement makes her a liability anyway.”

“I guess,” Derek sighed, looking at the dark building. He still didn’t like being back here, the memories of teenage years spent in a haze of lacrosse practices and testosteronous popularity contests mixing with the memory of his packmate dying just a few dozen feet from where he was standing.

“We’ll be back sound asleep in my bed in no time,” Stiles promised unconvincingly, his hand finding its way to Derek’s shoulder and resting there, before he succumbed to his own body and rested his forehead on Derek’s bicep, breathing heavily.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek immediately took a hold of him, not so tight as to hurt him or take away his balance, but tight enough to react in case Stiles’ legs gave out.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly and quietly, looking over to make sure Scott or the girls hadn’t noticed it, “I’m fine,” he repeated.

“How are you doing this?” Derek asked after a silent moment of terror, watching the weak human stand up straight and wipe his pained expression away into an angry one, bordering on uncomfortable.

“It’s what we do, isn’t it?” Stiles sighed as Derek’s shadow grew more illuminated in the night, meaning Peter was finally here, which was confirmed by Derek’s eyes following Stiles’ frame to the car. “Are we waiting for Allison and Isaac?” Derek heard him ask Scott. Stiles was putting on a show, but he was still showing Derek how vulnerable and miserable he really was. Derek had never been more in awe of anyone that right now when looking at Stiles pulling himself together for the benefit of everyone else.

God, Derek was scared. He was so fucking scared. He was scared for Stiles, he was scared for Cora, for Jackaline, for Scott, even Peter. He was still holding out hope that at least Allison had enough brain to keep Isaac’s sickly ass away from this. Apparently not, as Cora locked her phone, saying “On their way with Allison’s dad.” It shouldn’t be this fucking difficult. None of this should be this hard on either of them. Derek never should have fallen in love with a tiny, defenceless human that could be mentally penetrated by a Nogitsune. Except that Stiles wasn’t defenceless, Derek realised as Peter patted Stiles' shoulder once he was out the car, adding a lazy walking dead joke. They were all there to help Stiles and get Lydia back. They were a team. They were a _pack_.

“How long?” Scott asked as Derek took a few more steps away from them and towards the school, hoping to hear something, anything, feeling jaded and having slight trouble focusing due to the lack of sleep and the amount of stress his body had gone through in the past few days.

Scott had said that it had to be the school, because they’d been learning about Shakespeare all semester and the Nogitsune, hiding inside Stiles, had to know that. The thought alone made Derek shudder uncomfortably. Something other than Stiles sharing his body and his mind made him uneasy and, frankly, a little sick to the stomach. Because if there was a Nogitsune, then what would have stopped it from pretending to be Stiles this whole time? Pretending to feel the way Stiles obviously did about Derek. Pretending to fall for him instead of being afraid of him as he had always been. Derek wasn’t sure if he could take that becoming a reality.

“A few minutes,” Cora’s voice answered and Derek heard it somewhere distant and long-forgotten. There was not a sound to be heard from the building in front of him. No footsteps, no nothing. Scott had suggested that it might be a trap. An ambush. Another trick. Stiles didn’t care. For a moment there Derek had found himself looking at his boyfriend from outside their relationship and wondering whether he still had feelings for the Banshee, but shook it off, shoving it down and dismissing the idea, knowing that if it was Derek in Lydia’s place, Stiles would have already rained down hellfire to get him back. Besides fighting his boyfriend for his little sister’s broken heart would really suck. So much.

“For the record,” Peter’s voice made Derek jump, having been so focused on the school and not expected anyone to approach him, “I think this is a phenomenally idiotic idea.”

“Join the club,” Derek sighed, doing his best not to lose it, “Did you bring it?” Derek asked and Peter handed him the box without argument.

“Have the optimistic little puppies discussed the possibility of this being a ruse?”

“They have.”

“And?”

“They’re remaining optimistic.”

“Uh huh,” Peter’s eyes narrowed as he looked back to the sensibly nervous group of children about a dozen yards from them, “And what if it was a signal meant for anything supernatural to hear and come and help kill us?” he asked, making Derek finally look at him instead of the high school, a single look, but it demanded an explication well enough, “Well, it didn’t come to you, did it? It came to the crazy girl.”

“Meredith, yeah,” Derek had already thought of this, “but other supernatural beings don’t know what they’ve been studying for English all semester,” Derek nodded his head in the direction of his and Scott’s combined pack, huddled together by their cars, waiting like pigs for slaughter, “It’s a coded message and it’s coded for them.”

“Doesn’t ease my mind, to be quite honest,” Peter’s voice, Derek was delighted, surprised and worried to find, sounded nervous.

“If we die tonight, I just want you to know,” Derek looked over to his uncle, finding something like hope and maybe even fatherly love glistening in the blue eyes staring back at him, “you’re a dick,” he slapped his shoulder and walked away, hearing a soft snicker from the older werewolf.

“What’s our play?” Derek asked to no one in particular, but there was probably no one doubting he was talking to Stiles.

“We go in there,” Stiles nodded, looking to Scott for help, “and get Lydia.”

“Let me get this straight,” Derek said after a beat, “Your master plan is to walk into the English classroom and just, what? Hope you won’t get killed?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles dismissed unsurely. “We’re sending her in first,” he pointed to Julia.

* * *

“God, we’re gonna get killed so hard,” Cora whispered into the dark hallway and Derek had trouble not agreeing, “Lydia better fucking marry me for this shit.”

“Is that the endgame?” Derek was surprised at his baby sister as if there was no way she could have a romantic side.

“Isn’t that the endgame for every relationship?” she cocked her eyebrow, “or do you not want to marry Stiles?”

“Haven’t talked about it.”

“Don’t have to talk about it to know how you feel,” she whispered, and before Derek had the chance to retort or even think about it , she continued, “Oh, that’s the signal, go, go, go!” she told Derek and waved for Jackaline to follow the flashlight switching on and off in the opposite end of the second floor hallway. Derek had a bad feeling about it, but it was too late to argue anyway. They had a plan and the least he could do was to follow it as Scott kept Stiles away from the line of fire.

* * *

“It shouldn’t be this difficult for all of us to get rid of one of him,” Stiles sighed as he tried to maneuver the basement without crashing into a pipe.

“He’s ancient. We’re seventeen,” Scott reminded him, following close behind in case Stiles’ body finally gave out for good, “besides, we don’t have Lydia, and what are we, really, without her?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” Stiles agreed, trying not to think about how his friends and boyfriend might be getting killed two floors up right now, and he’d have no idea. “Do you think they’re in there already?”

“Uh,” Scott dragged, probably looking at his watch which they’d all synced before heading into the building, “yeah, they should be in already.”

“And you can’t hear anything?” Stiles checked for good measure, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing,” Scott admitted dejectedly.

“Allison better not have lead my boyfriend into sure death,” Stiles scoffed, “or I should be there right n-“

“Stiles, if you were there you’d be dead in a second,” Scott interrupted him.

“Uplifting as always, buddy.”

“Just trying to keep you...not dead.”

“That’s what being human is all about,” Stiles exhaled quickly and walked into the room where a few weeks ago he’d seen Boyd take his last breath, “Lydia?” he asked carefully to no avail, “Lydia?” he repeated, a little louder this time.

“Stiles?” her voice called back and for a second he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it, so he turned to Scott who appeared just as shocked before sprinting into the direction he thought her voice had come from. She was severely injured and looked confused and possibly drugged, but she was alive, and she was still there. “Stiles, you’re still alive,” she smiled a loopy grin and cupped his jaw as soon as Stiles crouched down to her. She wasn’t tied up or anything, but she looked like that wouldn’t even be necessary.

“Ok, come on, we need to get you out of here, now, please,” Stiles tried to pull her up, keeping himself together as long as possible.

“We,” Lydia repeated absently, a hazy smile on her closed-lidded face that disappeared as soon as she opened her eyes, “We? Who’s we? Who else is here?” she asked in slurred words and unsure movements, “Is Cora here? And Peter?”

“Yes?” Stiles’ stomach sunk, “Why?”

* * *

They rushed back upstairs, Scott holding Lydia upright because Stiles could barely keep his own body from going limp on the ground. The first thing they see was Jackaline turning the corner with blood-soaked clothes and red fingers, shock and disbelief on her face and in her static steps. Stiles could feel himself and Lydia imagining the same thing, as the Banshee let go of the Werewolf to walk over to his girlfriend and cradle her up in his arms, looking back at his best friend over her shoulder as if asking what the hell happened. As if Stiles would know better than Jackaline.

“Whose blood is that?” Lydia asked weakly, her voice trembling, but it wasn’t whatever the Nogitsune had done to her. It was something else completely now. Something that Stiles wouldn’t accept.

“Jack, who was it?” Stiles tried to keep his voice steady as he watched the blood from Jackaline’s hands, blood that could have belonged to Derek or Cora, or Allison, seeping into Scott’s shirt.

She could only shake her head in return, “It wasn’t…” she let go of Scott and wiped her face into a part of her sleeve that had no blood on it, “They’re fine. It was Julia.”

Stiles let go of a thankful breath and staggered forward, trying not to trip over his own feet, walking past Jack and Scott towards the English classroom where he’d spend lesson after lesson wondering why the teacher hated him for no apparent reason, feeling his body yearn for a rest, just to sit down for a minute, to shut his eyes for a second.

“Don’t,” Cora ordered quietly, blocking Stiles’ view of the room before he could even look inside, “Come here,” he said and lead Stiles away as Derek and Peter worked on getting Julia’s blood cleaned before someone came in the morning.

“How?” Stiles couldn’t manage the whole sentence, but it wasn’t exactly rocket science to understand what he wanted to know.

“He was waiting,” Cora explained, letting Stiles slide down to the floor, too fucking tired of everything, just waning to take a break, “he assumed you’d be the first one in.”

“Good thing we sent her then,” Stiles closed his eyes, seeing phosphenes dancing behind his eyelids, hearing Cora sit down in front of him. Someone had died because of him. And yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly him doing the killing, but, Jesus Christ, someone had died. Again.

“Where is he?” Stiles asked, his eyelids too heavy to open back up.

“Gone.”

“Isaac and Allison?”

“With argent, digging a big hole in the preserve.”

“Derek shouldn’t keep dead ex-girlfriends buried in your backyard.”

“Derek shouldn’t keep letting you get fucked up by supernatural creatures.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda shit at being a werewolf bodyguard, isn’t he?” Stiles asked, making Cora laugh. “He’s winning the game,” Stiles said after a moment of watching her, “I have no moves left, he’s a gazillion years old.”

“You don’t have to win, though,” Derek said, extending his arm to pull Stiles up. He had blood on his clothes, but in the dark Stiles could pretend it was just mud and dirt. Peter was carrying trash bags of paper towels and brooms out of the classroom and shutting the door after them, so Stiles assumed it was clean and done. How long had Stiles been sitting there?

“I beg to differ,” Stiles’ voice cut through the dark in cold, deadly anger. The other Stiles. The one that made his life living hell. The one they needed to stop and they needed to do it now. Cora was helping Stiles stay upright and he was holding her back as if he was any protection. “You do need to win, but you’re right, you can’t, I’m a thousand years old and you are children, you can’t defeat me.”

“But we can change you,” Cora said determinedly, sounding an awful lot like Lydia. Not just because it was the smartest thing any of them had thought of, but because instantly Stiles understood her plan.

“What?”

“You forgot about the scroll,” Stiles smiled coldly, as if they’d already won. He knew Cora’s plan, he knew what she wanted to do, he knew it would work.

“The Shugendo scroll,” Cora explained, making recognition flood into the other Stiles’ eyes. He knew the name, he knew they knew how to stop him.

“Change the host,” the Nogitsune said to himself, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d say he was scared.

“Can’t be a fox _and_ a wolf,” Stiles nodded as Derek charged forward, faster, by a second, than the Nogitsune that tried, and almost managed, to escape, grabbing a hold of his arm and biting down hard before pushing him to the ground, leaving him screaming in pain and defeat as Jackaline twisted her hands, making the other Stiles’ head turn unnaturally far, face frozen in terror and pain as the body limped to the ground, mouth still agape in a silenced scream. Bold move for a girl that had just seen her English teacher die and had freaked out over it. Stiles saw a tiny firefly escaping the corpse, fighting its way to the closed windows, trying to get away from them, just to be caught, trapped in the round wooden box by Peter. The imposter on the ground cracked like porcelain and shattered with no impact, floating away in a vestige of invisible dust.

 _Gotta call dad,_ was the last thing Stiles remembered thinking before his vision went blurry and his legs went numb, his head hitting the cold ground and his mind going blissfully blank.

* * *

They weren’t in the school anymore the next time Stiles woke up. He was definitely not on the floor, that much he knew. The familiar scent of coffee and printer ink, and the sound of a phone ringing and busy chatter was what flooded his memory. He knew moving his head would hurt, so he tried to look around with just his eyes.

He recognised his father’s desk, so he must have been put on the little couch in his office, but the Sheriff wasn’t sitting at his desk, instead having placed Derek in charge of watching Stiles sleep like a creep as he sat on the ground next to Stiles’ head, reading an old case file, looking almost angelic to Stiles in the kalopsia of dimmed lights and his fuzzy brain.

“You have a seriously alarming taste in women,” Stiles whispered hoarsely in a way of letting Derek know he was awake.

Derek smiled, but his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, “Isn’t that why I have you now?” he asked, making Stiles snort a laugh. “Do you want some food?”

“You know what I want?” Stiles sat up, despite the protests of his pounding head and Derek’s adorable little warnings to wait, “I wanna sleep in my own bed. With my own werewolf. Where I’m alone in my own brain. Besides you look like absolute shit, and even your handsomeness isn’t helping,” he added in the voice people usually used to talk to babies, and scratched lightly at his beard.

“Don’t baby me,” Derek warned, but he was smiling lazily and obviously enjoying the pampering and worry.

“Just take me home,” Stiles laughed and let Derek help him up from the little worn-out couch.

“I’ll take you wherever you wanna go,” Derek admitted sleepily, his tired brain probably taking down the firewall that usually kept him from being mushy and romantic.

“Let’s start with getting some sleep, big guy,” Stiles suggested and Derek nodded in mock defeat with a silent ‘yeah’, leading him out the room, his warm hand holding onto Stiles’ clammy freezing one without shame or a doubt in the world that this was where he wanted to be and whom he wanted to be with. “Hey,” Stiles stopped, pulling Derek back by their linked fingers, irrational nervousness taking over his body as he looked at the man in front of him, patiently waiting with a warm questioning look on his face, and said, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeah, so I was obviously not gonna let Allison die, that girl is gold, baby, solid gold.


	3. Safe + Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

December had come in the blink of an eye, and only now did Stiles realise how much he actually liked warm weather. The only consolation was that the cold was a great reason for cuddling. Well, that is, whenever the other party involved wasn’t on a Hale family baseball bonding trip in San Francisco. Which Stiles had been offered to go on, as well, but when the Sheriff says you’re staying home to study, you’re staying home to study. Christmas break be damned.

It wasn’t exactly Stiles’ fault that the Nogitsune had taken a bite in the shape of a whole month off Stiles’ life, considering the amount of time it took for his body to recover from, you know, keeping two minds inside his head, splitting into two entities, and severe sleep deprivation. He just didn’t like waking up in the middle of the night, in the dark, wondering if he was actually still okay, without a warm body next to him to remind him he’s safe.

He loved Christmas. He hated spending it with his nose buried in a book, isolated from the world.

He sat up with a shudder, trying to pull his blanket along with him, but it wouldn’t budge, stuck under a pile of Lydia’s notes at the foot of his bed, so he pulled on his red hoodie and wiggled sleepy stiffness out of his toes before shutting the window and going downstairs for coffee. Sweet, hot energy juice of dreams.

“How’s algebra?” his dad teased from behind a newspaper, audible smile in his voice and an empty plate of something that used to be greasy and definitely not good for him sitting sombrely on the table, next to a half-finished mug of coffee.

“Is there any coffee left?” Stiles ignored the question and cleared his throat upon hearing how hoarse his voice was from lack of use. He’d started talking to himself, or mumbling, rather, whenever he was trying to figure something out, but it was never comparable to conversing with actual, living people, ergo, vocal cords – stiff; voice – husky.

“Most of the pot,” his dad said plainly, “want me to make you some breakfast?”

“Actually,” Stiles started, covering the bottom of his favourite cup in sugar and pouring the dark, fragrant liquid, “I was planning on living off caffeinated goodness until it kills me, but I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Don’t be morbid, kid,” the newspaper was doing nothing to hide the smile Stiles heard in his father’s voice.

“Long shift today?”

“I’ll be home at eight, don’t you dare try sneaking out while I’m gone. School comes first,” there was a little more serious warning behind his words now. The deal was – study all day, catch up, if you pass Lydia’s testing, you can have Christmas when Derek gets back. And that had been a prize enough for Stiles to shake his dad’s hand in agreement. Now he wasn’t so happy about it anymore.

Objectively, he knew his dad was right. He had spent half a month sleeping and doing his best to take his mind off what had happened with the help of an abnormal amount of Mario Kart with Scott and Isaac, psychoanalysis with Lydia, movie nights with the Hales (except Peter, because Stiles was still creeped out by the guy, and he’d thankfully had no interest in a Marvel marathon, the big, scary wereuncle that he was). But it was just so unfair to spend the most wonderful time of the year studying, when Derek sent him so many pictures and little boasty updates. So much so, that Stiles was regretting the time he suggested they start sending each other photos in the first place.

“Have fun catching bad guys,” Stiles sighed, starting for the stairs, hoping his room was back to its normal temperature, “let me know if you need some free investigating done,” he threw in carelessly before adding a pleading, “please.”

“Econ first, murders second,” the Sheriff reminded.

“I feel like that might actually be Coach’s to-do list.”

“Go!” his father instructed, not even trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled up as he turned the page.

“Two days to go, two days to go,” he reminded himself in that little mumble he’d grown so accustomed to using, as he set his coffee on the desk to wait for it to cool down, and checked his phone for Derek updates. He hated those updates, they were far too jealousy-inducing. But most of them were very, very, extremely bad selfies, and some of them were an annoyed Peter and Cora, or an over-excited Jackaline, so, yeah, he actually loved them a lot.

‘Stop checking your phone and open a book, dumbass’ said a text from Derek that had arrived some time while he was getting his coffee. He laughed at it, something pulling in his chest, feeling an awful lot like what pulled there back when he would watch the werewolf when he wasn’t looking, and dreaming of letting his fingers explore how soft that stubble was.

He heard the doorbell ring downstairs and automatically grabbed the first book from the pile on his desk and plopped himself into the chair, sensing that if whoever has come over saw him with his phone in his hands, it would not end well. He was glad he’d been so paranoid when the door to his bedroom opened and a strawberry blonde came through it, eyebrow already raised in disbelief.

“I’m studying,” Stiles promised, raising the book in his hands. Which was upside down. “Shit.”

“Nice try,” Lydia pulled that squinty smile she did so well and took her red coat off, laying it on Stiles’ unmade bed without even batting a curled eyelash. She’d gotten used to Stiles’ lazy messiness over the course of the past two weeks, coming over to tutor him almost every day. Gotta hand it to her – the girl had stamina. And patience. Because, sure, Stiles was smart, but when he didn’t want to study, his brain could be real stubborn about accepting new information.

“Can you just quiz me so I know how bad I actually am?” Stiles slid down the chair ever so dramatically, so that only his shoulder blades and stretched legs supported him.

“Nope,” she threw a history book at him, making him fall on his ass to the floor and hit his head against the armrest, “I see you’ve taken down your red stringy thing,” she pointed out.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles watched the wall behind her that now only housed pin holes and leftover pieces of yarn, bared of all pictures, scribbles, post-its and whatnots, “needed something to do with my hands while I monologue the list of all of the Civil War battles you made me memorise.”

“And how was it?”

“Not nearly as entertaining as a Captain America comic.”

“So if I asked you now to name them, you could?” Lydia’s question came out more as a skeptical statement, and Stiles cleared his throat to begin, “No, stop,” she raised her hand, “you can tell me all about it when I quiz you. It’s World War one time now.”

“You are maddeningly inconsistent,” Stiles looked at her as if she was a crazed serial killer, “by the way, I got new content last night,” he said and threw her his unlocked phone, hoping she wouldn’t scroll further on the conversation with Derek to see all the profanities they texted each other in the late hours of the night.

“Is peter wearing a yellow raincoat?” her eyes were on the verge of bulging out of her head.

“Apparently Jackaline’s idea of a Christmas gift is revenge for being a dick to us,” Stiles explained, smirking as he remembered the photo, having had stared at it with tears streaming down his face from laughter for about twenty minutes when he first saw it late in the night and trying not to wake his dad, “and he wouldn’t decline a gift from his long-lost daughter, now would he?” He waited for Lydia to stop laughing before asking, “You got anything new?”

“Cora sent me a video of her walking through an Yves Saint-Laurent store and told me to try and not choke on my own spit,” she shrugged nonchalantly. Stiles remembered the Lydia from a year ago – the Lydia that would go red with bitter anger if addressed in such a way, demand an apology or start a war. But now she appreciated the darkness in Cora’s humor, usually throwing pretty strong remarks back to her girlfriend herself. “Oh,” she suddenly remembered, “Did you watch the documentary I sent you?” Lydia asked, changing the subject out of nowhere.

“Yes.”

“Alright, then, tell me about Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice snapped him out of a pretty decent dream.

“I’m not asleep,” Stiles lied.

“Lydia left already,” Scott laughed, picking up Stiles’ PlayStation controllers and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I can’t, dude, you know that,” Stiles rubbed his eyes out and picked up a random textbook from the top of his desk.

“An hour,” Scott promised, “you deserve it.”

Stiles hated Scott’s ability to talk him into things. That used to be only Stiles’ superpower, but ever since the bite, Scott had become more persistent and harder to say no to.

* * *

“I thought this was supposed to be red,” Stiles stared down at the open Tupperware container of cranberry sauce, balanced on top of two other plastic boxes on the table. He leaned down to smell the brown concoction, but changed his mind at the last second.

“Scott made it,” Derek said quietly, handing him a bowl to pour the so-called cranberry sauce into.

“Why are we even having cranberry sauce?” Stiles barely avoided spilling the contents onto the table, “it’s not Thanksgiving.”

“You didn’t get to have thanksgiving this year,” Derek reminded Stiles without a single trace of blame or pity, but leaving a lingering kiss on his cheek. They hadn’t had the chance to be alone ever since Derek left for San Francisco what seemed like a lifetime ago. Even now, as they were each huddled over their own thing, having spent more than an hour in each other’s presence, they hadn’t had the chance to be just the two of them. Stiles had very cleverly arrived early (after Lydia had given him the gift of no quizzing him for Christmas), but as Derek opened the door to let him in, Cora was standing behind him with a devilish smirk, daring them to try anything. “So Lydia and Cora made turkey,” he sounded positively annoyed. Stiles was sure Derek had spent a good couple of days trying to convince them not to make it. There was no convincing Lydia not to do something.

“You can’t have turkey without cranberry sauce,” Scott stated the obvious when carrying something into the apartment.

“I don’t think anyone’s having the cranberry sauce,” Stiles murmured, making Derek laugh as he squeezed Stiles’ shoulder and moved over to take the roasted veggies out the oven.

Jackaline was humming along to a Frank Sinatra Christmas album Isaac had purchased on vinyl and was now playing on his portable record player, that had taken a smug place on a windowsill, as he helped Allison figure out the tangles in the brand new string lights Derek had bought two days ago in San Francisco as per his sister's request. Cora herself was hunched over a box of old, tacky Hale family tree decorations, separating the ones that Lydia deemed good enough from the ones that, in the strawberry blonde’s words, should never see the light of day. Stiles saw a few of the latter ones. He agreed. Except for the ones that had baby pictures of the Hale children printed on them. Stiles was definitely stealing the Derek and Cora ones. Great blackmail material. He knew Lydia would appreciate that, as well.

“Where did the decorations come from?” Stiles asked, tongue hanging out through his lips as he focused on the correct way the appetizers should be arranged on the plate. Derek caught that tongue with his lips, forcing a surprised laugh out of Stiles as he slipped his hand under the human’s hoodie.

“Apparently it’s hard to keep teenage werewolves out of their burned down houses,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ mouth before seizing it once more.

“Get a room,” Scott said with an annoyed tone, but simultaneously in a warning as he came back into the kitchen with more home-cooked food, Melissa herself and the Sheriff trailing in soon after. Thank God for Scott.

“Seriously enjoying the domesticity around here,” Stiles stated as Derek’s warm hands left his hips and took a pile of lidded dishes off Melissa’s arms.

“How can we help?” Stiles’ dad turned to the two of them, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“You can start carrying things to the table, I’m sure Lydia has opinions on exactly where to put what,” Stiles handed him one of the salad bowls and looked over to Derek who rolled his eyes as he emptied the seemingly endless supply of food onto more plates and bowls, “If there’s a natural disaster anytime soon, we could survive off this for a good month.”

“Well, it’s Beacon Hills, that wouldn’t exactly be improbable,” Derek mused, handing the Sheriff the first thing in front of him when he came back into the kitchen to carry more food to the table.

“What in dear Lord’s name is this?” Stiles’ dad asked, scrunching up his nose at Scott’s brown, bordering on spongy concoction.

“Cranberry sauce,” Derek didn’t look too convinced upon inspecting it for the first time properly.

“Allegedly,” Stiles added, taking a break from smearing pesto on whatever it was that Jackaline had handed him, and leaned further from the weird food and into Derek’s side.

“So…avoid it?” his father asked.

“I’d suggest so,” Melissa advised, “I never actually saw him make it, and as much as I love that kid more than anything in life, cooking is just not one of his things.”

“Except for PB and J’s,” Stiles reminded and Melissa tapped her index finger to the side of her nose. “Flush it,” he turned back to his father and saw Derek nod in approval.

Scott only wined once about the loss of his beloved cranberry mush, but everyone that had laid eyes on it agreed with Stiles’ order, eventually wearing him down and convincing him it was truly the most God-awful thing in the history of gastronomy. Scott wasn’t blind. He obviously agreed.

“No Peter?” Stiles asked after about an hour of loud conversations and laughter-filled stories. If all werewolf Christmases were like this, he was seriously looking forward to more.

“No show,” Derek sounded as if he didn’t care, but Stiles knew better.

“Any word?” Stiles took a pile of practically licked-clean plates and handed them to Derek.

“Not since the border,” Derek sighed.

“He’s fine,” Stiles promised, “It’s Peter. He always comes out on top. Or, at least, definitely alive.”

Derek laughed at that, looking over to the redhead banshee laughing at something his little sister was telling her, “I don’t care.”

“Yeah,” Stiles huffed, “you do, actually.”

“Maybe a little,” Derek admitted, placing everything in the kitchen sink to rinse.

“Softie,” Stiles snorted, taking two of the desserts to bring to the living room, barely avoiding the foot that Derek was trying to kick into Stiles’ butt cheek.

It was Peter who had taken it upon himself to drive the Triskelion box somewhere no one would ever find and bury its dangerous ass. Unprompted. As if charity was one of his go-to mindsets. They were all weary, but he’d promised he had all the best intentions in mind.

“Stop that,” Derek ordered, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts. He turned around to see Derek pointing a warning finger at Scott and Isaac, roughhousing near the glass coffee table while Allison, Jackaline and Cora laughed and cheered them on, the Sheriff, Lydia and Melissa doing their best to save their glasses and cutlery.

“Fine,” Scott agreed after freezing in the middle of a choke hold on Isaac and finally letting him go, the curly-haired werewolf laughing and patting Scott on the back, which was apparently what Scott expected, since he whipped around, grabbed Isaac’s hand and turned it back, causing Isaac to fall right on his back, straight into the glass coffee table Derek had only bought a week ago.

“Was it how you’d imagined it?” Derek showed up behind Stiles as he was doing the dishes about three hours later, leaning the whole of his werewolfy bodyweight onto his very tired and very human boyfriend.

“Very much so,” Stiles answered, piling the last of the dishes he was still willing to finish onto the rack, leaving the rest to soak, partially because of the insane amount of cheese-based things werewolves had the capacity to eat, but mostly because he just couldn’t keep standing long enough to finish all of it.

“I cleaned up all of the broken glass,” Derek announced, mumbling into the crook of Stiles’ neck as he waited for his boyfriend to wipe the rest of the water from his hands into his pants. Stiles knew Derek was doing his best to refrain from commenting on it. He hated Stiles always wiping his hands on his clothes. Water on his pants was one thing, but when it was Cheeto dust on his hoodie, two tiny crumbs of it falling onto Derek’s sofa, there was no coming back out alive from it. Stiles had to learn that the hard way.

“Hopefully without cutting yourself,” Stiles’ sentiment was merely that – a sentiment. Derek could cut himself all night long and still come out without a drop of blood spilled. Stiles plied his werewolf’s hands off his waist, taking the moment Derek used to protest to turn around in his embrace, letting him fall back onto the human, leaving his back pressed up against the kitchen counter. Stiles’ fingers mindlessly lost themselves in Derek’s soft hair, as he looked out into the living room to see whether there really was no broken glass left. He hadn’t noticed Derek throwing it all into the trash can just a few feet away from Stiles, in the corner of the kitchen, but, then again, he wouldn’t exactly be surprised if Derek had thrown the shards out the window.

“Wanna go to sleep, big guy?” Stiles offered, enjoying the huge slab of pure werewolf hunk and warmth pressed against him, still confused as to how he managed to get this one all for himself.

“I’m good,” Derek murmured.

“Yeah, I bet,” Stiles sighed and actually somehow managed to push Derek off himself despite the protests from his boyfriend, “Come on,” Stiles nudged, starting for the stairs, “I haven’t slept properly for a week and I need you to fix that, deal?”

That seemed to get Derek’s attention and snap him out of the cuddly mindset he’d gotten in, at least long enough to be dragged upstairs and into his own bed, “Deal.”

* * *

“Stop that or I’m taking away your shotgun privileges,” Derek warned when Stiles switched the radio station for the twelfth time in half an hour.

“Then entertain me,” Stiles wined, leaving it on a program that played the same top 40 hits on a loop, knowing it had to start annoying Derek at some point.

“I’m driving,” Derek reminded with a smirk. A smirk which Stiles appreciated, seeing the droplet of sweat trickle down the side of Derek’s face. Stiles wasn’t too comfortable in the heat himself, but at least he didn’t have the added worry of focusing on the road, “So maybe later.”

“Gross,” Cora and Lydia said simultaneously from the backseat, stopping Stiles from leaning over into Derek’s side of the front of the car by Cora’s feet appearing on the armrest between them. Stiles looked back with a laugh to see his boyfriend’s sister playing on a Gameboy and her girlfriend reading a book while snacking on a red licorice twist.

“How much longer?” Stiles asked in a whisper, as if the question, voiced normally, could piss Derek off.

“About an hour,” Lydia said without having to check the GPS.

“Jack says Isaac has to pee,” Cora informed after checking her phone.

“Coming up on a petrol station,” Stiles supplied.

“Pulling in,” Derek flicked the turn signal.

It was even hotter outside, not that Stiles could have ever imagined it possible. Derek had refused to turn the AC on too strong, afraid Stiles could catch a cold. “I’m not a baby,” Stiles had rolled his eyes. “You’re my baby,” Derek had answered, making sure Cora hadn’t heard to get to make fun of him later.

“My ass is numb,” Stiles said, shaking his leg out once he’d finally gotten out of the Camaro, “I’m gonna get some Gatorade.”

“Get me the blue one?” Derek pulled his puppy eyes and Stiles just smiled and walked away with thumbs up raised above his head for an answer, not waiting for the other half of their team to arrive, despite missing his Jeep, desperate for some shadow and liquid. As the mechanic door swung open and the little bell announced his arrival, the silent tune of what sounded like elevator music from the eighties played in the distance and outdated fridges displayed off-brand drinks, the small shop failing to provide refuge from the scorching heat outside.

Stiles sighed and took a step forward, every movement seemingly drawing a new wave of sweat from his skin. Isaac ran inside, slapping his shoulder on his way to the bathroom, letting Stiles know the other car was here. He turned to look outside, where Scott was waving at him on his way over to Derek who had found a table to sit and take the world’s smallest nap at.

“Isaac, do you want anything?” Stiles knocked on the bathroom door and heard a ‘nothing liquid’ for an answer. “Fair,” he shrugged with a chuckle and went to pick something that looked blue enough to be the equivalent of Gatorade, enjoying every second of his hand reached into the fridge, as mild as the cool was. He grabbed whatever else he could find wrapped in plastic, avoiding anything chocolate. If something melted into the Camaro, Stiles would have hell to pay, and he wasn’t going to piss off Derek when he was already stressed out about Peter.

His boyfriend’s uncle and best friend’s girlfriend’s father, which was a fact he constantly felt the need to remind himself of, had disappeared without a trace after failing to communicate his whereabouts. Derek had obviously wanted to trust the guy, Stiles saw how worried he was about him. He had no idea how to react to being the skeptical one in their relationship. Scratch that – he was always skeptical, maybe he should stop.

Finding Peter was something they all agreed needed to be done. Waiting for summer might have been a mistake, though. When everything was hot and sticky and they could barely handle the weather, let alone finding someone who’s been missing for almost half a year.

“Back on the road?” Stiles asked, stepping back outside.

“Scott went for a walk,” Derek provided, resting his head on his elbow, submerged in a book, but his face betraying how attentive he was to everything around him.

“Jesus, seriously?” Stiles groaned and straddled the bench Derek was sitting on, pressing himself up against his werewolf’s back, “Can we just leave him here?”

“In the desert? He’d die in an hour,” Derek laughed, his words muffled against his on hand.

“He has Jackaline,” Stiles reminded, feeling Derek sit up straight, and hearing the sound of a bottle cap separating from the plastic ring.

“Please,” Derek said before taking a sip, “I can promise you for a fact that if you weren’t as interested as you are in me, you’d be trailing after him like a lovesick puppy. Want some?” he offered Stiles the bottle.

“Excuse you, I’m not gonna fall in love with-“

“A dude?” Derek offered ever so unhelpfully.

“My best friend,” Stiles corrected, “Too complicated.”

“Oh, yeah, but going after the guy that has threatened to kill you on multiple occasions is much simpler.”

“Hey, threatening to kill me is all on you, Greyback.”

“On a totally unrelated note,” Derek said casually, “if you ever leave me for Scott, I might just actually skin you. Both of you.”

“Yeah, sounds about right, Sourwolf,” Stiles sighed, not minding it much, “We’d make a pretty decent pair of shoes.”

“That doesn’t sound matching at all, where am I supposed to go like that?” Derek asked, laughing through the little angry jabs of Stiles’ fingers into his rib cage.

“To a werewolf fancy dress party? I don’t know what you get up to when I’m not around. Other than just desperately missing me.”

“Mostly just desperately missing you, yeah,” Derek’s voice didn’t fail to portray the sarcasm that had rubbed off on him from Stiles lately.

“Called it,” Stiles snorted and lifted his cheek from the top of Derek’s spine to see what the other were up to and if maybe Scott had returned, leaving the side of his face almost damp with the mix of their combined body warmth, “This is pretty gross, isn’t it?”

“You’re hot as shit, I wanted to make you leave the second you sat down,” Derek agreed.

“God, you love me so much, it’s embarrassing,” Stiles scoffed, getting up to stretch his legs. He would get plenty of sitting time once they were back in the car. “Hey, Lassie, I'm gonna find Scott, I can't sit still for this long,” Stiles said, looking back down to see his boyfriend reading again and only acknowledging him with a hum.

* * *

Finding Peter was no walk in the park. It took a solid week in two very hot cars and Derek’s Camaro almost breaking down, _“I’m not letting you fuck my car up, Stiles” “I’ve fixed the jeep a million times, I bet you I can get it up and running” “Are you buying me a new one if you fail?” “I never fail, Sourwolf”,_ not to mention all of them nearly going insane from being cooped up together for so long.

Stiles had suggested more than once before embarking on the journey (into seemingly the center of earth) not to take the whole pack along, but they knew they needed Lydia and Jackaline. And where Lydia and Jackaline go, Cora, Allison and Scott go. Honestly, Derek was convinced Isaac was just there for the opportunity to make fun of them once in a while. Derek was also reluctant to admit he’d started to enjoy the jokes.

They had raided any place that Deaton had suggested they check, Lydia trying to feel something, but it was untouchable like smoke.

Cora tried to use what little she knew of her powers to find her father, but it lead nowhere. For a week, it went absolutely nowhere.

“I don’t feel good about this one,” Derek whispered to Stiles as they were leaving their motel room to head back to the car.

“That’s not gonna stop you, is it?” Stiles’ question came out more as a convinced statement.

“Is that hot or worrying?” Derek wondered.

“I think you know those are the only two effects you have on me.”

“I like that,” Derek admitted, putting his sunglasses on and getting into the Camaro. He _needed_ the glasses for driving. But he _liked_ what they did to Stiles.

“Do you two ever stop flirting?” Cora growled, settling into the backseat, ready to continue her slumber.

“I would’ve guessed the two straight hours of banging last night were enough,” Lydia agreed, handing her girlfriend a paper cup of coffee.

“Weren’t straight,” Stiles mumbled only for Derek, And Cora, if she wasn’t asleep already, to hear.

“Two hours?” Derek looked over to Stiles with a raised eyebrow and a smile in response to his previous comment.

“Good for us,” Stiles shrugged. Derek hadn’t failed to notice how much confidence Stiles had gained in the previous months, and he hoped it didn’t all come from his relationship with Derek. He’d hate for it all to disappear if Derek was to go somewhere. It would be a real shame – Derek found this Stiles quite exciting. “Must be all that werewolf stamina,” Stiles added, making Derek properly laugh.

Derek had been right about not feeling good about this one. He and Scott got beaten up by Mexican omegas while Isaac dragged a drugged Peter out through gunfire without a scratch. He hadn’t let anyone else go along and it took serious alpha action to make Cora stay away. He still wasn’t sure how two alphas in one pack worked, but he wasn’t questioning it as long as it worked. Stiles had asked to come, too, promising he was good enough to be a spy. It took Derek reminding him he’s about as subtle as a punch to the face for him to let it be.

“Ow!” Derek yelled for the fifth time and through the third dab of minibar vodka-soaked rag Cora was trying to clean a deep cut on his thigh with.

“Stop being a baby, you’ll heal, just let me clean it,” Cora insisted.

“I’m not being a baby, he’s being a baby,” Derek insisted stubbornly, nodding his head to an unconscious Peter who was getting medical attention from Allison and Lydia on a Skype call with Deaton, “And him,” he said, looking over to where Jackaline was babying Scott.

“Who wants refreshments?” Stiles asked, entering the one motel room they’d gotten for the night with a bag of, as Derek assumed, soda and carbs. The kid had no respect for nutritional value unless he was feeding his father.

“Please tell me you got Mountain Dew,” Scott whined and Stiles handed him the bright green bottle, “I love you, man.”

“How’s Houdini?” Stiles asked, handing Derek a bottle of water, never taking his eyes off Peter, as though not sure him being asleep meant him being harmless.

“We’re taking him to the car, nine people can’t sleep in one bed,” Derek said, wincing and squeezing his sister’s hand. He’d always hated getting his wounds cleaned. At least this was better than Laura sanitising his cuts with lemon juice when they were kids.

“Why can’t we just get more rooms?” Cora asked.

“I’m not made of money,” Derek scoffed, making everyone look at him in amused disbelief. “This wasn’t supposed to take this long, I only took cash, why do I pay for all of you again?”

“Cause you love us,” Isaac teased.

“Shut up,” Derek said, standing up, “help me carry him over to my car,” he ordered, looking at both Isaac and Stiles, Jackaline following to make sure his head didn’t get banged up against anything. Stiles wasn’t any good at holding up heavy things, except Derek during sex, but he liked to feel included.

“Will you sing to me?” Peter’s dazed voice cut through the darkness.

“I will not,” Derek said defiantly. Stiles wished it was light enough to see the two.

“I can sing to you,” Peter’s words were practically incomprehensible.

“Go to sleep, dad,” Jackaline demanded.

“No one ever wants to hear me sing,” Peter said with disappointment washing into his confused, sleep-dazed voice.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Derek sighed, shutting the back door to his Camaro and looking at a smirking Stiles, deciding that sleeping in the same car as his uncle was the best way to keep an eye on himself so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit, “Passenger or driver?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stiles asked, an amused, crooked smile still playing on the corner of his lips that slowly disappeared as realisation dawned on him, “No, Derek, no, I like the motel bed, it’s soft.”

“You love it because it’s springy, you minx,” Derek patted Stiles’ back, “Which seat do you want to sleep in?”

* * *

“I need to borrow your laptop,” Stiles announced as soon as Derek picked up the phone. They hadn’t seen each other in a week, big thanks to the upcoming finals, and that’s the first thing he says?

“Stiles, what the hell have you done to your laptop?”

“Definitely not hot sauce and coke, that’s for sure.”

“Your diet seriously concerns me.”

“It was a 4AM snack,” Stiles sounded as if he was sure that was a proper excuse.

“Jesus, Sti!”

“Pleeeeeeeease,” Stiles whined, “I need it for college apps and, and, it’s really important, and did I mention I love you?”

Derek smiled to himself, the back of his ears burning, a year of hearing those three words and it still made him giggly. “Come over and it’s yours,” Derek pulled his best sultry tone, knowing full well that anything, and he meant it – literally anything, worked on the human.

“Derek,” Stiles moaned, “you can’t do that to me, man.”

“But I miss you,” Derek said innocently as Stiles groaned in response.

“Fine, you win,” Stiles sighed, “but no funny business,” he added quickly while Derek celebrated with a cocky smirk, mentally planning what he could cook Stiles to get him to relax for just one night. He’d seen how hard Stiles was working. The guy deserved a fucking break “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Twenty minutes was only enough time for a pretty decent mac and cheese, and God knows Stiles had no standards when it came to food, so Derek pulled out Cora’s leftover salad to feel less gross about himself. If they ever agreed to move in together, Derek would have to change Stiles’ eating habits. For the sake of not dying alone when Stiles’ heart gives out due to too much processed fats.

“Do you need me to take Isaac and get out for the night?” Cora offered, seeing Derek barely avoid burning the cheesy mixture, “We’re really good at sneaking into our girlfriends’ places.”

“It’s called breaking and entering,” Derek informed, throwing in a dash of chopped basil.

“Says the guy who slept at the Sheriff’s house without his knowing for weeks,” she snorted and took the spatula out of Derek’s hand to lick off the melted cheese.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, answering the earlier question and scooping up more pasta to offer her.

“I’ll get him right now,” she huffed, trying to fan cold air into her burning mouth, “Your pet human won’t even know we were ever here,” she laughed, ducking out the way when Derek’s arm came up to smack her, stopping in mid-air when someone banged on the front door. “Speak of the devil.”

“Get out,” Derek instructed, turning the stove off and wiping basil off his fingers into a rag and moving to open the door.

“Yes sir,” she smirked and rushed up the stairs, speaking loud enough for Derek to hear her telling Isaac to move, before all sound from the teenagers disappeared as they, presumably, jumped out of Isaac’s bedroom window.

“Get in here,” Derek greeted, pulling a laughing Stiles into his embrace, kissing the side of his neck as Stiles didn’t even try to flinch away.

“Something smells amazing, and that’s unfair, because I really have a lot to do, and,” Stiles walked further into the apartment before turning around to face Derek with a good several feet of safe, untoutchy distance between them, “I’d managed to repress how hot you are.”

“There we go,” Derek walked up to him, noticing the three tiny steps Stiles took backwards before the wall made him give in and stay put, letting Derek remove his jacket. “I missed you.”

“This is exactly why I’m avoiding you, you’re like a flytrap.”

“Flytraps don’t have mac and cheese,” Derek quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m seriously marrying you so hard one day,” Stiles ran to the kitchen, abandoning Derek to hang up the damp jacket. It must have been raining.

Marrying Stiles sounded nice.

“There’s salad on the table,” Derek yelled.

“Not interested,” Stiles yelled back.

Eventually, once Derek realised he could get Stiles to do anything by reminding him he needed the laptop, they were cozy and settled in under Derek’s bed covers, Stiles merrily typing away on his boyfriend's MacBook as the werewolf read a Stieg Larson novel next to him, turning to watch the focused look on his boyfriend’s face once every few minutes, expecting it to look quizzical every time, but being surprised when it just tugged on a fond string somewhere inside him, as he watched his tongue dart out when he typed, and his lips move along with the words as he proof-read.

“What are you looking at?” Derek asked, noticing a mildly impressed look dawn on Stiles’ face in the dim, cold glow of the computer monitor.

“Porn,” Stiles answered casually without thinking.

“Are you taking a Buzzfeed quiz?”

“Did you know that if I was a scented candle, I’d be lemon cake?”

“Huh,” Derek turned back to his book, “Lemon muffins are my favourite.”

“That’s exactly why I’m glad about it,” Stiles said excitedly.

“So I take it you’re done with the studying?” Derek asked, trying to suppress the smile that broke out at the thought of Stiles knowing what his favourite baked good was.

“Yeah,” he closed the laptop and stretched like a kitten, “been done for a while now, but you look really hot when you’re reading,” he said, letting Derek take the laptop and discard it somewhere on the floor.

“Is that so?”

“Brain is the new sexy.”

“You got that from Sherlock?”

“Everybody got that from Sherlock,” Stiles rolled his eyes as he bent down to kiss Derek.

* * *

‘Preserve’ Derek’s text had demanded in the middle of Stiles’ math class, making him scoff at how well-spoken his boyfriend tended to be. The man really had a way with words. Before Stiles had the chance to start planning what to tell his father when the school calls and tells him that Stiles has skipped the last period yet again, another text followed ‘After school’. Stiles snickered to himself and put his phone in his backpack with a shake of his head when Scott asked who it was.

“Don’t tell me you’ve discovered a new kink for doing it out in the woods,” Stiles yelled, getting out of the car outside the remnants of the Hale house, not exactly seeing his boyfriend yet, but knowing he could hear him nonetheless.

“Don’t be disgusting, Stilinski,” Derek warned, opening the door in a tee shirt and jeans that were a little tighter than usual, and leaning against the wooden arch.

“Well, with a sight like this _I_ might have that kink,” Stiles whispered.

“Get your ass in here,” Derek demanded, turning to go back inside his burned house, not even batting an eyelash at the human’s comment, already used to hearing such things, probably having imagined something along the lines of it himself.

“What’s going on, Der?” Stiles asked, taking a cautious step into the house, still scared of it after all this time, the memories of a mean, snarky Derek behind the door holding him back a bit.

“Look at those,” Derek pointed to the living room, “Tell me which one you like,” he added and headed into the kitchen. Stiles didn’t let confusion stop him from walking into the dusty room. He still had no idea what the hell Derek was planning, but it wasn’t hard to speculate once he saw paint samples speckled onto the wall. “It used to be that one,” Derek pointed to an olive shade near the fireplace, having entered the room, “but I never really liked it.”

“How come?” the question slipped from Stiles’ lips before he could voice his bewilderment as to why the hell Derek was planning on painting the walls.

“It looked bleak against the trees outside,” Derek shrugged and handed Stiles a beer. They’d had this conversation before. Derek had lost. Stiles was not going to sit around drinking juice while Derek got to drink whatever he wanted, even though he only ever drank it for the sake of it. Alcohol obviously never did anything to him, he just liked the taste. So did Stiles. Plus Derek was very easy to guilt trip when made clear that he was treating Stiles like a child.

“Are you renovating this place?” Stiles asked, taking a sip.

“I am,” Derek answered, taking one himself.

“Any reason?”

“Thought I should sell it, let some other family be happy here,” he sighed, looking outside, “I’ve had my fair share of good memories from this place, but they’re all shadowed by one bad one. I don’t want to have this cloud over my head for the rest of my life.”

“Derek,” Stiles wasn’t sure how to put it, “you come here whenever you feel down. You come here every year on the anniversary, why would you do this to yourself?”

“This way maybe I’ll stop grieving for once,” he looked over to Stiles with a strange shade of red in the white of his eyes.

“Grieving is not a bad thing,” Stiles pointed out, feeling a handful of painful, happy memories of his mother from throughout his childhood bubbling up, “It’s healthier than suppressing it.”

“I don’t want it to hurt so much,” Derek’s voice sounded dismissive but broken, another layer taken down by Stiles. In times like these, he couldn’t help but wonder if Derek would have turned out initially kinder, if only he’d had someone to talk all of this over with. Not that he wasn’t kind – it just took a while to get under his skin.

“I know,” was all Stiles knew to say to offer any kind of sentiment, “I know, come here,” he opened his arms and carefully walked over to envelop his boyfriend into them, letting Derek succumb to his sobs.

“I just want it to stop hurting, why won’t it stop hurting?”

“Because you’re not letting yourself heal,” Stiles pointed out, ignoring the sharp pain of claws digging into his spine, “it’s like a wound you keep reopening,” he whispered, “it only heals, if you let it.”

“Wouldn’t that mean letting go of this place?”

“That depends on you,” Stiles cooed, hand raking through the werewolf’s hair.

Derek let go of Stiles, turning back to look outside, avoiding Stiles until he called his name. “Derek,” Stiles said, but to no response. “Der,” he repeated softly, getting a half-assed look over the shoulder from Derek, realising he wasn’t even sure where to go with it next, “I’ll help you make this place pretty again, how’s about that?”

“That sounds pretty great,” Derek forced a smile.

“I’m guessing we’re starting with the water damage,” Stiles observed, looking up at the corners of the ceiling and then back at Derek, raising his bottle and adding “Can’t wait.”

This time Derek’s smile actually looked genuine as he crossed the room and kissed Stiles’ temple, on his way out the room, “Wanna see the trim colour?”

“You mean you already picked one?” Stiles said in faked shock, following him to the kitchen.

* * *

It took Derek Half a year to get the house looking presentable, Stiles working with him almost every weekend, Scott and Isaac happily agreeing to help. Stiles had never seen the Hale house in its full glory back when it was still intact, but he liked this version well enough, with its grey wood and auburn trims. Stiles thought it looked homey. Derek thought it looked weird. When asked why, he’d said it looked too different to what it used to. Darker. Cosier. Stiles decided that meant it was a good thing.

Both Derek and Cora agreed that the house needed to look completely different. Which Stiles understood. When asked his opinion, Stiles provided, but never forced any decisions. If there were several opinions, Derek sided with Stiles. If Derek was fighting with Cora about something, Stiles sided with Derek. Not that it helped much, since Lydia and Jackaline always sided with Cora.

As soon as the roof was no longer in danger of leaking and the paint fumes didn’t stink the place up, Derek and Stiles started sleeping over at the Preserve more and more, taking walks in the woods whenever they weren’t puttying walls, and living off takeout and heated-up leftovers. The Sheriff didn’t mind as long as Stiles could provide evidence that they hadn’t gone to Mexico without letting anyone know again.

Derek expressed more than once that he felt weary sleeping in the house, if he was going to sell it anyway. Stiles always offered to drive them back to Derek’s loft, but Derek would change his mind as soon as the offer occurred. “Next time,” he’d always say, “Just one more weekend.” Stiles smiled to himself at that every time.

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure what his stance on the house was. If Derek kept insisting so hard on the house being a burden, which, by the way, Stiles did not believe for a second, seeing how lovingly Derek did everything around the place, he wouldn’t push. But since he was sure that Derek, unbeknownst to himself, was starting to warm up to the idea of spending time there, Stiles was going to have to start thinking of ways to calmly convince him staying in Beacon Hills wasn’t that bad of an idea.

Derek had announced he’d go wherever Stiles went to college, sounding eager to leave the town. Stiles couldn’t blame him. He understood Derek’s eagerness to just grab Cora, pack up and leave, but Stiles’ ties to the town were rooted deeper than Derek’s, since all of his friends and father were here. Sure, Stiles wanted to leave and never look back sometimes, the memory of countless supernatural disasters barely having been avoided clouding his judgment, but he couldn’t deny how much he did actually love the tiny community. Yet while here everyone knew him because he was the Sheriff’s son, the lacrosse star’s best friend and the local hottest brooding mystery man’s boyfriend, he also wanted to make a name for himself. And maybe, for once in his life, he wanted someone else to be associated with _him_.

Writing was always something on the back of his mind. So was becoming a cop like his old man, or a step forward, even – FBI. He’d dreamt about it for a good while. Both of those things, really. The problem was making up his mind between the two options. And he was running out of time.

* * *

“I’m not missing your graduation,” Derek promised on his car speaker, on his way to the loft from the airport.

“Bitch, Stiles doesn’t mind, neither do I,” Cora’s eye roll was audible even through the car stereo, “just don’t kill yourself trying to get here.

“I’ll be there, make them wait for me,” he ordered, feeling his pulse spiking and having to make himself calm the fuck down. A chunk of his closet was at the house in the Preserve and he was cursing himself for not leaving his fancy pants and Stiles’ favourite one of his button-ups over there, since going through the house would be quicker on his way to the school, but no, of course, he’d have to be late to the one thing about school Stiles had been excited about for months – its ending. “I’ll be there.”

“At least Stilinski is towards the end of the alphabet,” Cora sighed and Derek could hear someone saying her name in the background, “Although, if you make it to his name being called and miss me, I’m not coming to New York with you.”

“That is false,” Derek ended the call, almost at the parking lot to his loft. It took him five minutes to change, even though he had to button his shirt while steering with one hand. He barely made it, though, running onto the side of the lacrosse field where the ceremony was held right on time for his sister’s name to be called, having missed Allison, but receiving a warm smile from her, since she was the only one who’d noticed his arrival.

He took a saved seat next to the Sheriff and asked, mostly to be polite, whether he’d missed Stiles. The Sheriff said he hadn’t. He knew.

“It’s over,” Stiles ran towards him when Derek went for a hug. He felt the eyes of basically the whole town on him, but he ignored it. Beacon Hills’ own Boo Radley who rarely showed up in a public setting. He tried not to be that way, especially now when he was considering living here, in his house, permanently, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, and hated the idea of bringing it up with Stiles. The guy was too excited about New York, as was Cora. And Derek was, too, really. He was excited to leave for a while, and he wanted to change his environment completely. He was just starting to realise coming back afterwards sounded pretty good. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it now that he’d so persistently been telling everyone he wanted to leave. He also started to feel like no one really believed him when he said these things.

“It’s over,” Derek agreed, barely managing to kiss the top of his head before his Melissa dragged him away, insisting on pack photos. There was no disagreeing with Melissa McCall. He wouldn’t let go of Stiles for the rest of the day, though, knowing how stressful this much attention can be for him. There was a celebratory dinner Derek insisted on taking Stiles and The Sheriff out to, Cora, Peter and Jackaline obviously joining, as well. It felt like a goodbye, for some reason. Derek wasn’t any good at goodbyes, though, so he forced himself to shove the thought down.

Cora and Lydia had insisted on living separately from Derek and Stiles in New York, which Derek couldn’t blame them for. Their apartments were still close enough to each other that they would meet all the time, but Derek had been so protective ever since getting her back, he was having trouble telling himself to let his sister grow up. Then again, living with Stiles, on their own, never interrupted or eavesdropped on by werewolf teenagers, sounded like a fucking dream.

“How were the apartments?” Stiles asked somewhere in the middle of them sharing a slice of chocolate cake or dessert, snapping him out of listening to a rather odd, but definitely interesting exchange between Sheriff Stilinski and Peter. He’d been prodding Derek about them all day, but the werewolf continuously insisted on telling him later.

“Smaller than I expected,” Derek admitted, fishing his phone out of his pocket to show Stiles. He’d checked them both out the day before and then taken the plane back only to barely make it back in time to see Stiles receiving his diploma.

“According to Lydia, this is pretty big for New York,” Stiles murmured, swiping forward on Derek’s phone's gallery. Derek didn’t really get that. Big was big and small was small. The apartment they were about to rent in Brooklyn was a fucking broom closet.

“Ten bucks says you’ll think it’s too small the moment you step foot inside it,” Derek scoffed.

“You’re on, tough guy, now show Cora,” Stiles instructed.

* * *

“Yeah, I was wrong,” Stiles admitted, dropping a box on the bedroom floor and opening the blinds that already came with the apartment to see nothing but a street in both directions, as far as the glass would let him see. It had taken him approximately seven steps to get from the front door to the bedroom window. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating _slightly._ But the place had looked bigger in Derek’s photos. If anything, this was his fault.

“You owe me ten bucks,” Derek yelled from the kitchen where he was unpacking the cutlery.

“I don’t remember making such a bet,” Stiles lied, turning to walk back downstairs to get the last two boxes from the moving truck, “Am I getting the last ones?”

“Lying shit,” Derek yelled before Stiles could slam the door shut and run the three flights of stairs down and get the last of their stuff, thank the driver and do his very best not to pass out, having decided to leave the heaviest two boxes last and carry them up on his own, without Derek’s help and simultaneously.

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles sad, having entered the bedroom again and finding the bed made and the boxes stacked in the closet, Derek having returned to the kitchen to get the cups out, so they could drink coffee in the morning. “Cora’s calling you,” Stiles said, pushing down the urge to yell it, as he’d been so used to doing back in Derek’s big loft in Beacon Hills when they were in opposite ends of it.

“Ignore it, I’m not carrying their boxes up,” he announced, followed by the distinct sound of cardboard being folded flat and shoved under the table “In fact,” he came into the bedroom and flopped down on the freshly-made bed, letting out a monstrous sigh, “I’m not leaving this bed for a week.”

“Oh, well, lucky you,” Stiles laid back from where he was sitting on the side of the bed, so that his head rested on Derek’s lap.

“If you try and leave, I’ll tie you to the bed,” Derek said sleepily.

“I knew you had a kink somewhere in there,” Stiles snorted a laugh and tried not to fall asleep before actually getting under the blanket on their first night in their own apartment.

“I’m pretty serious,” Derek insisted, sounding more tired with every word.

“If I’m late to orientation in NY-fucking-U we’re breaking up hard.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Stiles laughed and stretched his arm out, feeling something hard under Derek’s pillow, only to pull out a loaded gun, “Jesus, Christ, Der!” he yelled, jumping up, the gun still in his hand.

“Safety’s on,” Derek looked at Stiles like he wasn’t sure what the fuss was all about

“That’s a whole ass gun,” Stiles pointed out as if that hadn’t been obvious enough yet, “You’re putting me in the same apartm- the same bed as a gun?”

“We live in New York, I’m protecting you. You wouldn’t even know how to turn safety off,” Derek scoffed, “I’m not afraid of you shooting me.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles said sweetly, “That’s so nice,” he continued in a voice so sugary it was bound to piss Derek off, simultaneously taking the bullets out with an ease he knew would shock his boyfriend. “9 millimeter beretta, 92FS, if I’m not mistaken, silver bullets. Silver bullets, isn’t that a little stereotypical?” Stiles asked, shoving them back into the gun and cocking it.

“Allison made them for me, they work really well,” Derek looked taken aback and Stiles felt pride in that. “How did you…how…what?”

“You may have taught me to throw a punch, but dad wouldn’t let me go around the world full of Nogitsunes without me knowing how to fire a gun,” Stiles said quite smugly.

“I see,” something in Derek’s eyes changed. They darkened. Stiles liked that. He did things like this once in a while, just to see if it had an effect on Derek. It had never failed yet.

“We need to sleep.”

“Sun’s still out,” Derek pointed out.

“It’s setting, put the gun somewhere else,” Stiles said, walking over to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and maybe find some pyjamas for him and his boyfriend who, objectively speaking, had done almost all of the heavy lifting. “Don’t fall asleep on me, big guy,” he warned upon returning to the bedroom, with no reaction from the werewolf. “If you don’t brush your teeth, I’m not kissing you.”

“I’m up,” Derek promised, stretching out his arm to make Stiles pull him up from the bed, stealing a kiss the second he was on his feet, “You’d suck at poker,” Derek scoffed and moved to the bathroom.

* * *

“I turned down a fucking Ivy League school for her, because she wanted to go to art school in New York?” Derek heard Lydia continue her rant which he’d tuned out while getting her tea, having left Stiles to calm her down. He’d obviously failed.

It had been 3:47 a.m. when the redhead showed up at their door, fuming and in need for consoling. Derek had cursed under his breath when he heard who it was that Stiles had answered the door to. Once he’d gotten over not living in the _same_ apartment as his little sister, he’d expressed in more ways than one how stupid of an idea it was to move in so close to his sister, but Stiles had insisted it would be fun. Derek had been waiting for the other shoe to drop so he could hit him with an ‘I told you so’.

She thanked him for the steamy mug and Derek moved to close the window when he noticed Stiles trembling and his feet bare on the hardwood floor. He’d given up on reminding Stiles that getting a cold in New York City was much easier than in California, but the guy never seemed to care about himself enough to take that advice.

“Maybe she’s pregnant,” Stiles theorised, shaking his head when the two other participants in the conversation looked at him with so much disbelief he visibly changed his clearly worn-out mind, “That’s not really possible, is it?”

“Not really, no,” Derek narrowed his eyes and turned back to Lydia, mostly to be polite. All he wanted was some sleep. In his bed. With his boyfriend next to him. Preferably without the sound of a keyboard clacking near him as he falls asleep for once.

“I should have known,” Lydia scoffed, “I mean art school? Really? Of course she’d drive me out of my mind.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Derek growled as Stiles smirked shamelessly. Creative writing wasn’t far from art school, as far as Derek was concerned. Stiles always disagreed whenever it was brought up. For a while longer Lydia stayed quiet, sipping on her tea, until Derek finally looked up to meet Stiles’ eyes again. “No,” he warned, “I’m not getting involved.”

“Oh, please,” Stiles begged, “Please get involved.” This had become almost a routine for the four of them. Lydia would do something to piss Cora off, Cora would say something that threw Lydia over the edge, Lydia would come and complain to the two of them, Stiles would talk Derek into talking his sister down from her high horse, and Cora and Lydia would be back together, happier than ever.

“Not even if you paid me,” Derek leaned back in his sitting chair.

“I’ll pay you,” Stiles pleaded, but his eyes said ‘just do it, so she leaves quicker’.

“You can’t afford me,” Derek pointed out. He knew he was right. Despite Stiles’ job at a nearby Starbucks, he wasn’t making nearly enough to cover even half of the rent. They liked to joke that Derek owned Stiles, God knows it came in handy when Derek didn’t feel like washing the dishes. They both knew he would never use it against him, though.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Stiles shrugged, “I’m sorry, you’re fucked.”

“Lydia, I can’t keep going over to fix your shit every time you bicker,” Derek sighed, “I have my own hyperactive gremlin to live with,” he said and Stiles proudly pointed to himself with his thumbs, “I have enough relationship drama with this one, I’m tired of fixing yours. Be an adult.”

“I _am_ being an adult,” Lydia said heatedly, “tell your sister to grow up.”

“No, you tell her,” Derek let out a helpless laugh, “do you realise that it’s the middle of the night? And you’re here, begging for our help? I love you both, but seeing as you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met and she’s the grumpiest, I honestly can’t believe you two put together are less of an adult than Stiles Stilinski.”

“Somehow I’m liking this conversation less and less with every sentence,” Stiles objected, but Derek just placed his hand on Stiles’ inner thigh, that usually distracted him for a bit.

“You think I don’t roll my eyes at him every time he shows off?” Derek scoffed.

“I don’t show off,” Stiles insisted.

“Just a little,” Derek whispered, not taking his eyes off Lydia.

“I just don’t think I can take it sometimes,” Lydia almost looked ashamed to admit it.

“You think we can take each other all the time?” Derek laughed and Lydia looked at him as if that’s exactly what she thinks, “We glued ourselves to each other the second we got the Nogitsune out of Stiles. We’re literally never apart. We have no friends in the city…”

“Uh, speak for yourself,” Stiles snorted, but didn’t object to anything else, Derek’s hand still on his thigh.

“Okay, Stiles has made two friends and I buy them booze sometimes. Point is. When you’re in such a near vicinity to each other, you’re bound to be at each other’s throats sometimes,” he explained, realising Stiles was watching him with fascination, “That doesn’t mean I don’t love the shit out of him, alright? I’d do anything for him, even if that means admitting I’m wrong at times. It’s compromise, Lydia. That’s all that counts. So next time you feel like yelling at her, remember what it feels like to kiss her.”

“That was some good advice,” Stiles sounded impressed when Derek closed the door after Lydia left a few minutes later.

“Yeah, an introduction course to grown-up relationships,” Derek smirked.

“And I also admit I’m wrong sometimes,” Stiles crossed his arms.

“Oh really?” Derek prompted, turning the lights off and walking to their bedroom in the dark.

“I admitted I was wrong when I first hated the purple comforter,” he pointed out, getting under said comforter and shoving his icicle feet between Derek’s calves.

“It’s pretty, how could you hate it?” Derek asked sleepily, slinging an arm across Stiles’ chest.

“God, shut up before anyone thinks you’re gay.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” Derek snorted, hearing Stiles chuckle next to him.

* * *

“I’m never going to finish this,” Stiles said after a good twenty minutes of staring into his laptop screen, “I will die here, degree-less and unwanted.”

“I’ll want you,” Derek said from the kitchen, making Stiles smile, if only a little, “Besides,” Derek came into the room, bringing Stiles a full plate of food, knowing how much Stiles could eat when he was writing, “I’m pretty sure they’ll let you graduate even if you don’t do perfectly on one assignment.”

“But I wanna do perfectly on this assignment,” Stiles wined, shovelling potatoes into his mouth like a madman, “If I don’t ace this, the professor will hate me, and she hates everyone _but_ me already,” he said with a full mouth, sure that Derek was annoyed at it, but glad he kept it to himself. “I’m not jeopardizing a good relationship with that old hag just because I can’t figure out a good character arch.”

“How about you put some pants on and we take a walk?” Derek offered, slinging his arms around Stiles from behind him, “You love New York at sunset.”

“Everyone loves New York at sunset,” Stiles sighed, letting his head fall backwards onto Derek’s shoulder, “If I don’t figure this shit out, I’m proving to myself that I’m just as stupid and boring as everyone else in her class.”

“Be that as it may, we’re all stupid and boring, that’s what makes us human,” Derek stated, “Put on some pants, we’re airing out your head.” And just as Stiles opened his mouth to argue, Derek added a “Just for an hour, trust me on this one.”

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles complied with a sigh, letting Derek drag him out into the early December frost, surprisingly enjoying the silence between them as they slowly gravitated towards Empire Fulton Ferry Park, wordlessly spotting a free bench and taking a seat.

Stiles glanced over at Derek before turning to watch people jogging past them. It was going to be dark soon, but Stiles wasn’t going to complain, instead appreciating the fact that the fresh air actually seemed to help with his block.

“What is he up to now?” Derek asked suddenly, but Stiles knew he was talking about his character.

“Hiding the body,” Stiles sighed.

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“How about the Hudson?” Derek supplied, nodding to the view in front of them.

“Too obvious,” Stiles sighed, “Already thought about it.” Derek hummed in answer to that and kept watching the river. “I mean, He works by the docks, it’s too expected, right?” Stiles tried to make Derek think his idea wasn’t completely stupid, it just didn’t work.

“Well what about this?” Derek asked, and for a few seconds Stiles waited, watching the water, assuming Derek would hand over another idea, and miraculously come up with something Stiles hadn’t considered yet. When the werewolf to his right didn’t say anything, he turned in confusion, having expected more input, which was something Derek had started doing, mostly as funny and impossible scenarios that Stiles had no use for, other than a good laugh for the two of them.

Before Stiles could ask “What?” he noticed Derek’s stretched-out palm and a small silvery band placed upon it. “Der,” Stiles said carefully, not wanting to assume what he was already assuming.

“Mieczysław Stilinski,” Derek said quietly, a strange new smile Stiles hadn’t yet had the privilege of experiencing playing on his lips.

“Yes,” Stiles Whispered, nodding already.

“Let me finish,” Derek demanded, but Stiles shook his head and kissed him instead, pulling him in for the longest time and letting the warmth from the Werewolf envelop him the both of them, suddenly not giving a shit about the assignment, or the character. He felt like the first time he’d kissed Derek and realised he was kissing him back. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

“Will you marry me?” Derek whispered the question, as if the answer wasn’t clear enough already.

“I don’t know. Let me think about it, it’s a big life-changing decision, I need to consider my options,” Stiles shrugged, but Derek elbowed him and kissed him again as it made Stiles laugh. “Yeah,” Stiles answered with another laugh, “Yeah, I’ll marry the crap out of you,” Stiles whispered.

* * *

Every Christmas and each summer break they headed back to Beacon Hills, slipping comfortably back into a pack setting whenever they met anyone other than Cora and Lydia. The Sheriff got teary-eyed whenever Stiles and Derek first got back into town, and Derek would always try to leave them for some one-on-one father-son time, not that Sheriff Stilinski would ever let Derek do such a thing, insisting on his presence and always going out of his way to include Derek as if he was his own son.

Scott, Jackaline, Isaac and Allison would also try their best to get back as often as possible, but, in time, Allison and Isaac started to come back more rarely, instead taking up a passion for travelling. Peter would take Jackaline and even Scott to weird supernatural places, really leaning into the fatherly role that, Derek found himself shocked to admit, suited the guy.

Every Christmas break and most summer days would be spent at the preserve, Melissa refusing to let anyone be anywhere but together, insisting that Christmas needed to be the one decent tradition they held onto. No one would dare argue. Over the years they lived in New York and only came to visit a few times a year, the keys to the Hale house had been distributed among the pack, the Sheriff and Melissa each getting their own sets and the rest of them, if they ever came back and needed a place to stay, had to share the spare one Derek had given Peter for safekeeping.

So when Stiles and Derek showed up for what Stiles hoped would be their last Christmas after such a long time spent away from home, assuming he would break Derek down and make him admit he never wanted to move away from Beacon Hills permanently by the time he would have graduated from NYU, he wasn’t surprised to find his dad putting up Christmas lights onto the Hale house just as Melissa walked out to hand him a couple of freshly baked cookies.

“Do you think there’s something going on there?” Stiles asked, unbuckling his seat belt even before they’d stopped in Derek’s front yard.

“How are you so smart yet so oblivious?” Derek laughed, turning the engine off and waving to a smiling Sheriff.

“Wait, what?” Stiles’ smile was wiped off his face immediately.

“Stiles, those two have been dancing around each other since probably before I met any of you.”

“You mean Scott and I could be brothers?” he asked excitedly.

“Okay, you need to keep this energy down until they tell anyone,” Derek warned, knowing that them staying in the car this long probably looked suspicious, “but yes, they’ve smelled like each other since our first Christmas back here,” he stated and got out of the car, leaving Stiles to pick his jaw up from the floor. “Be cool about it,” Derek reminded him quietly as he got their suitcase from the back seat before heading over to his own porch to hug his future father-in-law and his girlfriend.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to blabber and ask Scott whether he’d known, getting a similarly confused and shocked reaction from his best friend. Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. There was only one secret Stiles had been able to hide over the past few weeks and Derek knew that was as good as he’d get from the human.

Sheriff and Melissa didn’t drop the news like the bombshell that it obviously was to Scott and Stiles, instead making it more obvious over the course of the night with small, caring gestures, lingering touches and knowing little smiles.

Before dessert was served, Stiles excused himself to the kitchen, throwing Derek a meaningful look which he had no chance to misinterpret. He’d been nervous, but in a good, tingly way, to tell his pack. A much more positive nervous than when he’d asked Stiles less than a month ago. So without letting it drag out too long, he cleared his throat and didn’t even wait for every single pair of eyes to land on him before he blurted out “We’re getting married.” And while everyone had gone silent, unable to even react yet, Stiles showed up from the kitchen, a nervous smile on his face and a champagne bottle in his hands. They’d agreed on not making a big deal out of it, although Derek couldn’t lie to himself about how excited that really made him. The shocker of the night award went to Stiles and Derek.

There were congratulations and loud reactions, nothing that Derek hadn’t anticipated, but it really put a dampener on the whole ‘not making a big deal out of it’ thing. Not that he minded much. Everyone seemed excited for them, questions about dates and venues already filling up his head, Lydia promising to plan the whole thing without them having to stress about it, Allison swearing they’d be in the country no matter when they set the date, Scott and Isaac making good-hearted fun of Stiles and having to wait so long for this to happen, while somehow finding a way to fight over the best man title. Cora and Jackaline looked shocked, as well, even though Derek had assumed Cora knew him better than anyone other than Stiles himself, and Jackaline, well, Jackaline could read minds. Even Peter looked satisfied in his nephew’s choice in spouse. The Sheriff had proud tears in his eyes, which made Derek feel less uneasy about never asking permission for his son’s hand, and Melissa, after having kissed their cheeks raw, was now hurrying to hand everyone a glass of champagne. This was all the family Derek could ever ask for now that most of his own were gone.

“That was easier than I anticipated,” Stiles pointed out, watching Peter’s car drive off with Jackaline and Scott waving to them from the back seat.

“No, it was not,” Derek huffed, closing the door and melting into Stiles’ arms, “it was really scary and I kind of want to elope just so there was no more stress like that.”

“First of all, it was fine,” Stiles snickered, “Second, they’d never forgive us,” he pointed out, just as Derek started kissing his neck where his face was buried for warmth. “Third, there are four people in the spare bedrooms and two of them are werewolves,” he obviously tried (and failed) not to sound affected by what Derek was doing.

“Soundproofed everything,” Derek reminded, pulling back and catching a glimpse of Stiles’ lazy-eyed stare, “I made sure of that.”

“Did you, now?” he asked, almost challengingly, barely making a noise when Derek picked him up.

“I love you,” Derek whispered and carried Stiles over to _their_ bedroom. In _their_ house. He’d stopped fighting the voice in his head that told him to stay here. Stiles would be a writer in half a year and could work from anywhere in the world, Derek could keep mentoring baby werewolves and consult the police since, apart from Deaton, he probably knew the most about all the weird stuff that happens in this town. There was no way they were not moving into this house and starting their own family right here in Beacon Hills. “I love you, too,” Stiles answered.

No matter what had happened over the years, no matter the near-death experiences, the monsters and every single terrifying thing that had brought them together, they’d met here, they’d fallen in love here. This town was their safe haven.

They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I've really enjoyed writing this and I hope you don't hate my take on these events. I decided to make the epilogue into smaller episodes of their future together, up to a time where I felt it was comfortable and safe for them. If you'd like more soft, cozy, or crazy, or even supernatural scenarios from their future life, just say the word, because I love this story enough to continue it. Thank you for reading it, I hope it was any good.


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